


The Year that Changed Everything

by weirdsisters99



Series: Ripple of Change [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abused Harry Potter, Albus Dumbledore Bashing, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Black Hermione Granger, Canon-Typical Violence, Draco Malfoy is a Good Friend, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Found Family, Gaslighting, Gen, Good Draco Malfoy, Grey Magic, Hogwarts Chamber of Secrets, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Indian Harry Potter, Lucius Malfoy's A+ Parenting, Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, Mentor Severus Snape, Pureblood Politics (Harry Potter), Sassy Severus Snape, Severus Snape is Bad at Feelings, Severus Snape is So Done, Sirius Black & Severus Snape Friendship, Smart Harry Potter, Tom Riddle is His Own Warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:15:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 41,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24618190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weirdsisters99/pseuds/weirdsisters99
Summary: "[Ernie] dropped his voice until it was barely more than a whisper, and said, “That’s probably why You-Know-Who wanted to kill him in the first place. Didn’t want another Dark Lord competing with him. I wonder what other powers Potter’s been hiding?” "(Chamber of Secrets page 199)What if, that day, someone stood up to Ernie and it changed everything?Harry Potter AU
Relationships: Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter, Harry Potter & Severus Snape, Hermione Granger & Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter & Ron Weasley, Sirius Black & Severus Snape, they are children
Series: Ripple of Change [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1751668
Comments: 206
Kudos: 816





	1. A New... "Friend"?

**Author's Note:**

> And we're finally ready to hop into the school years at Hogwarts! It's gonna be a pretty slow start, but hopefully, everyone will forgive me for that. 
> 
> Also, if anyone's curious, the POC Harry and Hermione thing is just my personal headcannon, but it's not a "huge" part of the plot. It's just how I see them as characters.
> 
> Remember to Kudo and Comment. I thrive off of praise and it helps me write.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

_ "[Ernie] dropped his voice until it was barely more than a whisper, and said, “ _ That’s _ probably why You-Know-Who wanted to kill him in the first place. Didn’t want another Dark Lord  _ competing  _ with him. I wonder what other powers Potter’s been hiding?” "(Chamber of Secrets page 199) _

Harry was about to step out from behind the bookshelf when a clear voice that he’d never heard rang out in his defense. “Oh, shut it, Ernie!” It was a girl’s voice, slightly scratchy and hoarse as one of the Hufflepuffs stood up, her back towards Harry. 

Her actions caused him to pause.

Ernie clearly wasn’t pleased by whoever had interrupted, the stout boy’s face turning into a glare. “Oh, move off of it, Wren!”

‘Wren’ didn’t back down, “The lot of you should be ashamed of yourself! Potter hasn’t done anything. You’re lying.”

He snorted. “You’re just defending him because you have a crush on him, don’t you!”

“I don’t have some stupid crush on Potter!” ‘Wren’ hissed. “I’m just not so small minded to act on my fears and blame someone for something they didn’t do. You’re such a coward, Ernie.” And with that, the girl collected her books and stormed off…

… running straight into Harry.

Harry stepped back to avoid the collision for nought, her books and papers flying everywhere. The other Hufflepuffs went pale when they noticed him,

“W-What are you doing here, P-Potter?” Ernie asked, his voice quivering. 

“I was-”

“He was just leaving you miserable sods,” the girl--who’d been doing her best to pick up her stuff--snapped, grabbing Harry’s wrist and pulling him along with her. The startled Gryffindor could only mouth words as he was dragged off. Both of them earned a stern glare from Madam Pince, her lips curling in displeasure. 

It wasn’t until they were well out into the hallway that he finally found the ability to speak. “Where are you taking me?” he asked dumbly.

The girl dropped the grip on his arm and huffed. “Sorry about that,” she mumbled, pulling her books up close to her chest. She had long, dark hair that was forced back into two braided pigtails, wiry strands poking out every which way. Large, even darker eyes seemed to bore into his own. Her skin was pale and drawn, like she was somehow distantly related to Snape, which sent an unpleasant shiver down Harry’s spine. Hopefully she wasn’t. That would be awful. 

“It’s fine,” he answered absently. “I was, er, looking for Justin. To- To tell him-”

“That you weren’t setting that snake on him?” she finished. 

“Er, yes?”

She sighed. “I doubt he’d listen anyways, even if you had found him here. He’s being dumb.”

Harry and her shuffled awkwardly in the hallway.

“Thanks. For what you said back there,” he murmured. Shy green eyes glanced up at her own. “You… You don’t think it was me then? That I’m not the Heir?”

She looked at him strangely. “You don’t seem like the type of person to attack people like your friend, Granger. So, no, I don’t think it’s you. Everyone’s just…”

“Dumb?”

“Dumb,” she agreed, face splitting into a smile. The girl held out her hand. “I’m Wren, Wren Selwyn.”

So, not a Snape as far as her last name was concerned. That was good.

He took her hand, shaking it. “Harry Potter.”

“I know,” she giggled. “You’re kind of famous.”

Harry sighed, “For one thing or another.”

“Right… Well, chin up,” she suggested, “People will start thinking for themselves soon.” Wren morosely looked back towards the library, a frown slowly creeping onto her face. “I better go and find a new place to study… I don’t think I’ll be welcomed back. Ernie’s going to be in a foul mood.”

“I’m sorry you got kicked out of your group because of me.”

She shook her head, looking towards him again. “It’s fine. I don’t mind it. I didn’t really like any of them anyways. None of my yearmates seem to have their own opinions on things. They all just follow what Ernie says because of who his family is. Light families are all like that. My mum would call them sycophants, but… you didn’t hear that from me.” Wren gave him a toothy grin. “They’ll be pretending they never doubted you for a second in a few months once they realize they’re being silly. You’ll just have to play hard to get when they do. It’s the least they deserve after treating you like a pariah.”

He frowned. “I guess.” Truthfully he just wanted all of this to blow over and everything to return to normal. For everyone to stop looking at him like the devil himself. It was bad enough getting that from the Dursley’s and all the neighbors on Privet Drive. 

Slowly his mind churned over the rest of her words. “Wait, what do you mean by Light families? What does that have to do with anything? Why would I need to play hard to get?”

Wren stared at him, perplexed. “You don’t know about any of that? But you’re a Potter…”

“What does being a Potter mean?” he blinked.

Her expression soured. “You don’t know anything do you? About politics and the works?”

“What politics?”

“Merlin’s knickers,” she swore. Before she could say anything else, the bell tolled, making her grimace. “Damn, I’ll be late for my next class.” Wren started towards the other end of the hall. “I’ll come find you again later!” she shouted behind her, “And I’ll bring a friend to help me explain this whole mess, promise!” 

And then she was gone. 

Harry stared at where she had been standing for a long moment, before turning and running into Hagrid. The long nightmare that followed made him forget all about the strange witch he’d met in the hallway. It wasn’t until she found him a week later on her own that he even remembered speaking to her. 

Or the questions he had.

Then again, the fact that she brought Malfoy with her of all people drove those questions away really quickly.


	2. Nothing Makes Sense

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the second chapter, I hope you all like it! And there's actually plot here, so yay.
> 
> Please leave me comments! It really helps the creative processes.

“What are you doing here, Malfoy?” Harry snapped as the blonde walked in behind Wren. He could feel Ron and Hermione tense up from where they were sitting behind him in the abandoned classroom he’d agreed to meet with Wren in. They’d followed him there, even when he tried to explain that it wasn’t really necessary. Hermione had argued that with the monster wandering around, it was better to stay as a group. Ron and Harry just had to agree with her and let her do as she pleased. 

“Stand down, Potter,” Malfoy huffed, closing the door behind him. He glared at Ron. “I thought you said you’d talk to him about things.”

“I would have if I’d had the time, but if you haven’t noticed, we have a bloody monster on the loose!” Ron snapped, though without it’s usual vigour. 

Harry blinked at the dramatic shift in the mood of the room as Ron slouched in his chair, putting his feet on the desk despite Hermione’s reprimands for doing so. What? Ron was usually the one to start the fights with Malfoy. What was going on?

“Besides,” Ron continued, “I wasn’t the one to use the word ‘mudblood’.”

Harry and Hermione tensed.

Malfoy actually winced, Wren shooting him a glare. “Admittedly not my best moment. If it’s any consolation, Flint was getting suspicious.” 

“Suspicious about what?” Harry asked, eyes narrowing.

Malfoy rolled his eyes and looked at him. “I know you won’t believe this, but I’m on your side. I only said stuff like that because I happen to be surrounded by people who  _ report to my father _ about my actions.” 

“Like we’ll believe that,” Hermione rolled her eyes.

“It’s true actually,” Ron piped up getting a surprised look from them both.

“Wait,  _ what _ ?” they asked in shock.

“Yeah,” Ron shrugged, “A few years back a whole bunch of us kids ended up becoming friends and meeting in secret on and off throughout the years.”

“Why all the secrecy?” Hermione asked.

Malfoy gave her a look. “I thought you were smart.” She opened her mouth to protest when he bulldozed straight past her, “My father was a  _ Death Eater _ , even if according to the law, he was under the Imperius. I know for a fact this isn’t the case. He willingly followed You-Know-Who and killed a  _ lot _ of people. And you’re asking me why I wouldn’t want him to know that I was hanging out with  _ Light _ family scions and the lot? I’d like to keep my friends safe, thank you very much.”

“We’re so touched,” Wren drawled from the doorway, sitting against the closed door.

“I’m sorry, who are you again?” Hermione blustered. 

“Florence Selwyn, but call me Wren. I’m another one of the friends.”

“She actually started everything, so don’t let her response fool you,” Malfoy stated.

“Technically, if we’re talking about who started everything, we should be blaming Professor Snape.”

“Professor Snape?” Harry gaped. “Why would he-”

“Because he’s acting too,” Ron piped up before Harry could work himself into a frenzy. Merlin knew the two didn’t get along well, which was more of the professor’s fault than Harry’s, but for good reasons. Or at least reasons that everyone hoped were good. 

“He’s acting too?” Harry repeated.

“Mhm,” the redhead nodded, “He has to pretend to be the bat of the dungeon for political reasons too. He’s not all that bad. Technically, every detention Fred and George have with him is just tutoring he’s been handing out.”

Harry’s jaw dropped, before he stuttered out, “B- But he’s horrible and nasty! And you don’t like him either!”

Ron shrugged, “He’s decent once you realize he’s just horrible with kids.”

“Then why’d you agree with us when we thought he was out to steal the Philosopher’s Stone?”

Malfoy looked at them, “The Philosopher’s Stone? Why would-”

“Last year, fourth corridor,” Wren piped up from where she had pulled out some sort of homework assignment.

“Really?” he glanced back at her.

She shrugged, “Honestly, that was the only true rumor that was going around last year outside of the dragon you claimed Hagrid had. I’m surprised you didn’t hear it.”

“Pansy’s my main source,” Malfoy’s expression was sour.

“Your mistake.”

“Can we get back to the Philosopher’s Stone?” Hermione huffed.

“Right, right, sorry,” Malfoy waved, “please continue.”

Ron sighed, and gave his friends a sheepish smile. “You’re not going to believe what I have to say. Bloody hell, I didn’t believe it when I was told.”

“Told what?”

“Snape’s been trying to get himself fired for years.”

Harry and Hermione blinked in confusion. “He’s what?” they both exclaimed.

The other three all giggled and laughed at their reaction. “Yeah, Theo and Millicent reacted the same way,” Wren continued. “Professor Snape  _ hates _ his job. He’s been doing all he can to build up complaints so Dumbledore or someone can just have him fired when push comes to shove. Of course,” her face twisted, “the old codger doesn’t seem to get the message.”

“You can’t just insult the Headmaster like that, it’s disrespe-” Hermione was cut off by Ron. 

“No, no, Hermione, you don’t understand.” He let out a huff of breath, running a hand through his hair. “There’s no way Dumbledore  _ doesn’t  _ know that Snape wants to quit. He’s just keeping him around for who knows what.”

“Well why doesn’t Professor Snape resign then?”

“Because he can’t, can he?” Harry whispered before the others could. They all blinked and turned towards him. He shifted awkwardly. “It’s like there’s something worse that will happen if he does quit.” He’d learned that lesson with the Dursley’s. No matter how hard it got, he knew he couldn’t run away or disobey too much or he might end up in an orphanage. A known monster was better than an unknown one. 

“So you’re not all talk, eh, Potter?” Malfoy grinned. 

Harry flushed.

“So what,” Hermione interrupted once more, “Professor Snape is trying to get himself fired? That doesn’t make any sense. Why would anyone not want to work at Hogwarts?”

Ron and Harry gave her incredulous looks while Wren fell over laughing. Even Malfoy’s lip twitched upwards. “Because,  _ Granger _ , Professor Snape is not what you would call a ‘people person’.” 

“Ha! That’s the understatement of the- the century. He- he doesn’t really like children either,” Wren managed between gasps of laughter. “I think he barely tolerates us as it is.” Malfoy pouted. “Except for maybe Draco here. But he’s obligated to like him.”

“But why would he not just quit? That makes more logical sense,” Hermione pointed out. “What could be worse than getting fired?”

“Azkaban,” Malfoy’s voice had turned hollow, “or something like that. Dumbledore has him under a contract. Any attempt to quit could be used to boot him straight to Azkaban.”

“That’s barbaric,” the girl gasped. “How awful… Are you certain it’s because of Headmaster Dumbledore though? That doesn’t sound anything like-”

“Dumbledore isn’t what he seems,” Wren snapped, getting to her feet. “He might not be the bad guy here--that’s definitely He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named--by that doesn’t mean he’s a saint, alright?” Everyone stared at her, even Malfoy and Ron who seemed shocked by the scale of her outburst. She gave a sheepish laugh, rubbing the back of her head nervously. “Sorry about that. I guess I’m just… Professor Snape’s been taking good care of us for the last few years and Dumbledore’s a touchy subject for him. Guess I adopted that.”

Ron looked ready to say something when Malfoy opened his mouth. “We’re here to teach Potter politics.”

“Politics?” Harry repeated, noting how Wren seemed to breathe again thanks to the change in subject. 

“Politics,” Malfoy nodded. “Wren says you know nothing.”

Ron hummed in agreement. 

The dark haired boy sighed. “I barely know anything about the Wizarding World as a whole,” he mumbled tiredly. “And I’m still trying to wrap my head around Snape being… nice.” He frowned. “Or you for that matter.”

Malfoy let out a dramatic puff of air, crossing his arms. “I can leave if you don’t want my help. After all, I doubt the ‘Great Harry Potter’ needs my help with understanding social standings and the like.”

“No!” Harry waved his hands back and forth. “That’s not it at all.” Honestly, any knowledge he could get would be helpful at this point. Maybe it could help them find the Heir. Or at least help him with his current standing in the school. Was there some sort of manners he was missing that made everyone think he was the Heir? Had he insulted someone accidentally? Harry’s mind began to swim with doubts as he tried to curry favor. “I promise. I just…”

“Need time to process what bombshells we’ve already dropped?” Wren supplied.

He nodded, swallowing nervously. 

She and Malfoy both sighed, before looking to Ron. “Fine, we’ll let you take over for now, but as soon as he’s ready send him to us.”

“What about me?” Hermione huffed.

Wren rolled her eyes. “You can come too if you want. You’re a part of our world now, whether we like you or not.”

“I’m no less than you!”

“We didn’t say you were,” Wren glared at her, dropping the casual air she’d been maintaining throughout the earlier conversation. “You just don’t know anything about us yet, so you come across as rather rude.” Hermione bit her lip, looking away. “Regardless, Ron will catch you both up and call for a meeting when you’re ready. Does that sound acceptable to  _ your  _ standards?”

Harry nodded slowly, followed by Hermione’s more brisk one. 

“Very well then,” Malfoy bowed deeply towards all three of them before giving one last  _ look _ to Ron. “Don’t wait too long. We still need to figure out what’s going on in the school. Maybe if we all put our heads together we can stop this madness with Professor Snape’s help.”

“All right, all right,” the redhead bemoaned, waving him off. “Go bother someone else now.”

Wren and Malfoy slipped out.

Hermione rounded on Ron only for him to hold his hands up in protest. “I’ll explain in Myrtle’s bathroom alright? It’s a long story.”

“You’d better,” she warned before all three hurried out into the hallway.


	3. Much Needed Conversations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everyone. Hope you're all still enjoying this brain-drabble and that you're all doing well in quarantine. 
> 
> Here's a new chapter with slight feels. Sorry if it's a bit short.
> 
> Remember to leave comments and kudos if you please (it helps the creative process because I am a glutton for comments and compliments).

“So… what did you think?” the Hufflepuff asked her friend as she danced around him in the hallways. It wasn’t an uncommon sight to see her orbiting around Draco considering their families’ close relations. This, along with the fact that her cousins were his upperclassmen made their interactions completely normal and even expected. As far as anyone could tell, Wren’s family was close and warm to each other. What everyone didn’t know was the whole House of Selwyn was a riotous mess of deceit and political maneuvering all on its own. Then again, not everyone had insider information like Draco. 

_ “What happens in the family stays in the family” _ was the Selwyn motto.

Draco had hated that motto ever since he heard it. And what crimes were covered in a thin layer of fake, saccharine smile and under the table deals.

What the motto actually meant was more along the lines of,  _ “Don’t air the dirty laundry for the world to see at any cost.” _

“I think…” he drawled, drawing out his words, “that you’ve earned your five galleons.”

Wren smiled brightly, clapping and bouncing as he handed them over. “Goodie.”

They’d made a bet about Potter as soon as she’d mentioned that they were going to see him. Draco had said that Potter was just playing the clueless idiot, while Wren argued that she didn’t think it was a mask so much as him not understanding what was going on. He should have known by now that it was foolish to ever bet against Wren. Despite her clueless act, she truly was a Slytherin in Hufflepuff skin. The Sorting Hat had almost been put to a Hat Stall when it came to her. Potter was the only one that had stumped the hat for longer during the Sorting Ceremony during first year. 

She pocketed the money and flicked her hair back over her shoulders, the messy curls looking even worse down than they usually did up. “From what I’ve picked up, he doesn’t seem like the arrogant type that Professor and everyone else thinks he is. He’s rather…” she frowned, “shy. I had to stop Ernie from picking on him in the library and he looked so shocked that I’d even said anything. My bet? Dumbledore has something to do with it.”

“Maybe he thought it was just weird that you stood up for him since everyone in the school seems to think he’s the Heir,” Draco pointed out, crossing his arms. 

Wren shook her head. “That’s not it. I think Harry has masks too. Just not ones he knows about.”

Draco blinked at her. “What’s that supposed to mean? You sound like Luna.”

She shrugged, and skipped ahead. “If you can’t figure it out, then there’s no point in explaining it.”

And with that, he was alone in the halls to trek down to the dungeons. 

“So Malfoy’s not… Malfoy?” Harry tried to wrap his head around it with some difficulty. Did that mean the spoiled, almost Dudley-like boy he’d met in Madam Malkin’s was a fake? Should he have taken his hand on the train? Why had he been so mean to Ron then? He wanted to rub at his head. Nothing made sense anymore.

The trio had reconvened in Myrtle’s bathroom over the still-brewing polyjuice potion, Hermione adding ingredients every once and a while as Ron explained everything. How the group had been founded. How he and his brothers were just pretending to have a feud with Malfoy for kicks and giggles--and to make sure Lord Malfoy didn’t find anything out. How the wizarding world seemed to demand they act a certain way based upon who they were related too and what their politics were. It all made Harry’s head swim.

Ron nodded. “He’s still a bit of a prick, but he’s not awful.”

“Ronald!” Hermione hissed at the foul language. 

“What? I’m just telling the truth.” he shrugged. 

She frowned. “If you know Malfoy then, do you think he’s the Heir?”

“Of course not!” Ron scoffed. “He would never. If you think my father is mad about muggles, you should wait and see Draco’s hidden bookshelf of muggle history books that he stores at the Professor’s house. He’s an absolute nut. He wouldn’t even dream of targeting muggleborns. And Theo and Blaise told me that he’s been worried sick about it on top of everything. Spent the night having nightmares after Mrs. Norris was found, and Millie says that she’s pretty sure she heard him throwing up after they found Justin.” The redhead looked guilty. “Trust me, he wouldn’t do something like this.”

“So then we made this potion for nothing,” Hermione frowned, looking down at the brew. 

Ron nodded. “I… I did try to tell you not to do it.”

Harry sighed. The boy had. When they’d first talked about Hermione’s plan, Ron had told them that it wouldn’t work, and that it was too risky. He’d also, along with Harry, pointed out that Malfoy would be making it known to everyone if he was the Heir. 

“So what do we do now?” the boy asked, shoving his glasses up along the bridge of his nose. “If we already know Malfoy isn’t the Heir… that he isn’t even really  _ Malfoy _ … then do we just stop  _ this _ ?” He gestured to the cauldron. 

Hermione’s expression was uncertain. “I mean, it’s honestly only a week away from being done and it has a long shelf life, maybe we could keep it? After all, we took a big risk stealing from Professor Snape.”

Ron winced, “Yeah… I’m not looking forward to fessing that up to him. He doesn’t like it when people mess with potions.”

“But the Slytherins do it all the time in his class,” Harry argued.

He shook his head. “Those are Death Eater kids outside of our group and he’s Dumbledore’s spy. He can’t risk his position by taking them down a notch. However, he does make sure they pay for it later, even if he can’t do it in class under suspicion.”

“He does?” Hermione blinked in surprise. 

“Yeah. I heard Goyle did something, and the Professor claimed that there was no more boil cure potions when he got hit by a jinx later that week. He was in pain for a few days before Pomfrey sorted him out.”

“So… Snape’s not bad?” Harry looked at Ron, completely flummoxed. Ever since he came to Hogwarts it was clear that to Snape he was enemy number one, always being singled out, yelled at in class, and his intelligence insulted. Snape had made him feel like he was back at the Dursley’s, Petunia yelling at him right before he would get smacked with her pan. To say that he was a good guy--even a person that Ron trusted… was hard. 

“He’s really not. I’m sure he’d be a lot nicer to you outside of the public eye too,” his best friend reassured him, nudging his shoulder. 

Ron was weird like that, same with Hermione to be honest. Hermione would fret over him and his hair almost like Mrs. Weasley did with Ron and his brothers. The girl spent just as much time fussing about his poor diet and sleeping habits as much as she studied. Then again, she did the same with Ron, constantly admonishing him for talking with his mouth full and even lecturing him about what sweets could do to teeth. She was… motherly. And that was a concept Harry had a hard time wrapping his head around. Ron showed his affection in other, rougher ways. He would occasionally sling his arm around Harry’s shoulder, or even tussle his hair just to make Hermione complain at moments. He’d learned early on to telegraph his movements which made Harry more grateful than he could ever put into words. The both of them were… they were just so prone to  _ touching _ that it left him wondering if he was the weird one.

Harry blinked, realizing he’d slipped into his own head, both Ron and Hermione’s concerned faces staring at him like they’d asked a question that he’d missed. “Er… sorry, I guess I got lost in my thoughts. What did you say?”

“I said the Professor isn’t so bad when you get to know him,” Ron repeated. His eyes lit up. “And I’m certain he could try and do something about your awful relatives too!”

“You think so?” Harry asked faintly. A small bubble of hope rose up in his chest. “I think I’d like that. I don’t imagine they’d be too happy with me this coming summer after our escape.”

“We’ll talk to the Professor about it, don’t worry,” his friend assured him. 

Harry gave him a nervous smile, before it faltered. “Hey, Ron?”

“Yeah?”

“You… you keep secrets like Malfoy does, right?” He fidgeted, looking away from the redhead. “How- How much of it was a lie? Did- Are we really friends or was… I guess I’m asking if ‘Mione and I really know you.”

He didn’t see the look of shocked hurt on Ron’s face as he looked between Hermione and Harry to see if it was true. Hermione bit her lip and nodded. “Harry’s right. I’ve- I’ve been thinking about it too.”

“I- I’m still me!” Ron shouted, wincing as Harry and Hermione flinched away from him. “Sorry,” he mumbled, rubbing his shoulder awkwardly. “I just- You guys are the first friends I’ve had that I made all on my own. I- I wasn’t part of the group originally. Fred and George were supposed to be babysitting me and I followed them to a meeting. No one actually wanted me there at first.” Harry watched as his friend picked at the hole in his trousers. “I’d like to think that I haven’t lied to you, only hid things.”

“What did you hide?” Hermione asked after a beat.

He shrugged, “I’m not as dumb as I like to pretend. Or lazy. I still don’t like school work though, and the Professor says I don’t have the best mind for academics. Or wands for that matter,” he tried to laugh, pulling out his spell-o-taped wand, “I still like food. And wizard’s chess. I’m still Ron.”

Harry looked at him closely, before nodding. He scooted across the tiles of the bathroom and gave his friend a hug, causing Ron to sniff. Hermione soon joined the two of them, hugging their friend until he started to choke. “Geroff!” Ron sputtered, “I can’t breathe when you choke me like that, ‘Mione!”

The three of them laughed, breaking apart. 

“Alright, so you’re still Ron,” Hermione huffed, “but I’m still angry with you for lying.”

“I said I was sorry!”

“Sorry isn’t good enough, Ron. And you’ve been playing dumb in classes. That’s even worse! Now I have to draft an entirely different exam schedule for you and you have to tell me  _ everything _ so I know that you’re not skiving off.” She crossed her arms.

Ron groaned. “Hermione,” he whined.

“No! Even if you continue this- this  _ farce  _ about your studies--which I can’t even begin to comprehend--you still need to study as much as you can for later in your life.” Hermione started into a rant about the importance of education, that had Harry slowly edging away from her. Ron looked like he wanted to follow him, but was stuck fast where he was by a glowering Hermione. Honestly, he was just glad to not be the one lectured. He dreaded the day when she would turn that wrath on him. 

_ Still _ , he thought, smiling as Hermione continued to tear into a slowly paling Ron,  _ it’s nice to know that I still have friends. _


	4. Masks Shed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! Just wanted to give out a fair warning: I'm having a bit of writer's block so updates will likely be more sporadic and distant. Hopefully it won't be too long, but I generally only obsess over one fandom at a time and I'm feeling a pull towards another at the moment. I'm hoping I can hop back in soon, but no guarantees.
> 
> So for now, I'll leave you with this tidbit.
> 
> Please leave comments, they really do help and I like hearing from you guys. 
> 
> Thanks!

The next time they were in Potions, Harry found his hands to be shaking as he chopped up the shriveled wart root. He could feel Snape’s eyes on him, resting there. 

Waiting for him.

Judging him.

Harry gulped and did his best to keep track of how many times he was supposed to stir the liquid in his cauldron, only for it to turn a bubbling puce green. He sighed. The potion was supposed to be purple. Snape was going to-

“Detention, Mr. Potter,” the man hissed, waving his wand and banishing the substance, “and five points from Gryffindor.”

There was sniggering from the Slytherin side of the room, and whispers of how ‘the Heir can’t even do potions’. Harry shrunk in his seat.

“But he didn’t do anything!” Ron protested at his side, even as his own potion turned into a weak lavender color. Under the table he knocked his knee against Harry’s. 

Harry blinked. Why would he- Oh.  _ Oh! _ Snape was a good guy. Right. Maybe he just wanted to talk to him now that he knew?

“Five points from Gryffindor for your attitude, Mr. Weasley.”

Ron faked a glower as he turned his potion in. 

Harry watched closely as he saw Snape’s eyes soften as he turned it in, giving the redhead a firm, small nod. He blinked. Had that been happening all year and he just didn’t notice. He knew he was obtuse but… he’d like to think he would have noticed something like this. Ron hurried back towards him and Hermione, shuffling them out into the corridor and dropping his voice down. “Don’t be worried, Harry, I think he just wants to talk.”

“But what about me?” Hermione hissed under her breath. “I know now too and-”

“Because,  _ Granger _ ,” Malfoy cut in, approaching their group after slipping away from his own group, “it would be weird if he gave you detention in class. He never does that, or have you not noticed? You’re not ‘annoying’ enough to do anything but take points from. He’s not an idiot. He’ll find time to talk to you when it won’t be  _ obvious _ .”

Hermione flushed in embarrassment. 

Harry glared at him, but was stopped from saying something when Ron huffed out a, “Don’t be rude,  _ Malfoy _ .”

The blond winced and backed down. “Sorry. I’m used to being in character out in the halls.”

“Why aren’t you then?” Everyone turned to look at Harry in confusion. His ears pinked. “In character, I mean.”

Malfoy shrugged, “Crabbe and Goyle aren’t around, and anyone else would probably think that I’m just bothering you. Besides, I have herbology to get to, so I was leaving anyways.” He hopped away from them, just in time to dodge a--clearly rehearsed--punch from Ron, who looked like Malfoy had just insulted his family.

_ Oh _ , Harry blinked.  _ That explains a lot of last year.  _

And it really  _ did _ . Malfoy was always going on talking trash about the Weasley family like it was his personal mission to bring it up as often as he could. Was that all an act to set up a baseline so every further communication--as long as it ended in some sort of conflict--was dismissed as some slight? It was certainly clever. Terrifyingly so. It was something he could imagine Dudley doing if he was intelligent in any capacity. And wasn’t that a frightening thought? 

Then again… 

A small voice whispered in the back of his head. 

_ You could be great, you know, it’s all here in your head, and Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness. _

Harry shook the memory away, but there was a slight hesitation to it. 

If Malfoy was a Slytherin and wasn’t as awful as he thought… did that mean it wasn’t a bad thing to have been almost put in that house?

Later that night Harry found himself just outside the potion classroom, swallowing down the growing sense of fear and trepidation. What if Ron was wrong and Snape wasn’t as good as he thought? What if he was planning on expelling Harry as soon as he walked in, just like he wanted to at the beginning of the year? What if this was all one big mistake?

He found himself knocking on the door without thinking, too lost in the same thoughts as he had been swallowed in during his first year.

A cold, chilly voice cut through them. “Enter.”

Gathering as much of his Gryffindor courage as he could scramble, Harry opened the door. 

The potion’s lab at night was eerie. Cauldrons were stacked to the side of the room, looming like ominous shadows and towering over Harry in a way that almost made him shrink. The usual smells that permeated the room were muted, the ingredients locked behind a wooden door, out of sight out of mind. A glowing lantern at Snape’s desk was the only light in the room, flickering with a slight draft as it’s owner scribbled marks on a stack of essays in front of him. Snape barely flicked his eyes up to note that it was Harry before he was setting his quill aside in it’s ink bottle and turning to look at him.

Harry was very much aware as the door behind him clicked shut. 

He was alone with Snape. 

He hid his shaking hands in his oversized robes.

“Detention, Professor?” he whispered warily, eyeing the adult with mistrust.

Snape’s eyes narrowed in displeasure. “Don’t get smart with me, Potter. I know Malfoy and Weasley would have spoken to you about what you’re truly here for.” The Potion’s Master glided to his feet, robes billowing behind him as he cast a silent spell with his wand around the room that made Harry feel as if a blanket had settled over him and the area around them.

“They didn’t say exactly,” Harry hedged.

He didn’t seem to like that answer, stalking towards Harry in a way that caused the boy to see Vernon for a moment. A very angry Vernon. He stomped down on the urge to flinch, spine straightening until he looked Snape in the eye defiantly. 

Snape muttered something unintelligible underneath his breath before shoving a potion into Harry’s hands. “Take this.”

“What is it?” Harry asked, looking at it with distrust. Petunia had given him a glass of vinegar when he was little instead of water once. He’d ended up throwing up for hours afterwards. 

“A potion,” Snape replied acerbically. 

Harry glared at his back before swallowing the potion. Who knows what Snape would do to him if he didn’t take it. He nearly coughed at the bitter taste of it. “That’s foul,” he choked out. 

“It’s not supposed to be pleasant,” the professor stated grimly. “Now come over here, Potter. I can’t do what I need to when you’re all the way over there.”

“Do your work?” Harry asked, following his teacher back to his desk. “What’s that supposed to mean- Ow!” He hissed as Snape grabbed his wrist and pricked his finger with a sharp knife. A drop of blood started to bead at the surface before the dour man held Harry’s finger over a piece of paper, letting the drop splatter onto it. 

Harry watched with amazement as the drop disappeared onto the parchment and words started to appear. Snape snatched the paper away before he could read anything other than his name.

“What is that?” he asked.

“Testing paper.”

_ How very clear _ , a voice grumbled at the back of his mind. “What does it do?”

“Quiet. I’m concentrating.”

Harry felt silent, fidgeting as Snape’s face grew darker and darker. His expression soured when he reached the end of the parchment. He looked back up at Harry, who gulped. 

“Who do you live with?” The question sounded almost like an order.

The Gryffindor balked. “Why would you need to know-”

“Answer the question!”

“My aunt and uncle.”

Snape’s eyes turned pitch black with malice. “Petunia?”

Harry’s mouth gaped. “H-How do you know-”

“Do you know an Arabella Figg?”

“The old lady across the street? S-She used to babysit me-”

“Not well enough,” Snape snapped, the chair screeching across the stone below him as he flew from his desk towards a cupboard filled with various potions.

Harry stood frozen, watching with fear as the Potion’s Master pulled vial after vial out. What were those for? What had the parchment said? Why was he asking all those questions?

“How well are you fed at home, Potter?”

He stiffened, defenses raising. “Fine.”

Snape sent him a glare. “Don’t  _ lie _ to me,” he hissed.

Harry met his gaze defiantly. 

The professor didn’t seem to like this. He pointed to the parchment on his desk, gesturing as if he was trying to stab the paper itself with his finger as he jerked, spittle flying out of his mouth. “That report  _ doesn’t lie _ . It says you’ve been living in poor conditions. Miserable ones even. You are being  _ abused _ . So don’t try to hide the truth from me when I have evidence proving that your caretakers are unfit to even raise a gerbil!”

Harry had been slowly backing up as Snape screamed, bumping into a desk and doing his best to keep his hands steady as he shook his head. He couldn’t let the man know. He couldn’t let anyone know. Even Ron and Hermione didn’t know.  _ No one could know. _ Vernon would kill him if anyone found out. If his family name was raked through the mud because Harry couldn’t handle his punishments. Punishments he  _ deserved _ . 

“You’re wrong!” He lashed out at Snape, unknowingly shattering bottles around the room with his magic. “There’s nothing wrong with me. Stop butting your nose into somewhere it doesn't belong! Why would you care anyways? You hate me. Everyone hates me. So what gives you any right to tell me how they treat me? You don’t know anything!”

Snape surged forward, roughly grabbing Harry’s hand before he could rush towards the door. The boy didn’t think, flinging his hand to try and slap the professor’s hand away, his fear and anxiety from before reacting in a matter of fight or flight. He landed a hard blow to the man’s knee with his foot before he froze, eyes wide with fear.

He was in for it. 

He’d just  _ attacked _ Snape of all people.

Harry couldn’t breathe. 

What would Snape do to him?

His brain moved a million different directions as he started to struggle again, fighting as Snape regained his grip on him. No, no, no. He wouldn’t let him do anything. He could get away. Go and hide under his invisibility cloak for the rest of term. Live at Hogwarts as a silent ghost to roam the halls unseen. He just had to get away.  _ Have to get away. Have to get away. Havetogetaway- _

Snape wrapped his arms around Harry and pulled him into his chest. 

Harry froze.

_ Wait, what? _

Was… Was Snape… hugging him?

The Potion’s Master grabbed Harry’s hands to still his struggling. Holding them in one hand as the other rubbed up and down his back, Snape hugged him. The motion was stiff. Reluctant. Clearly the man was as uncomfortable with this development as Harry was shocked by it. 

Harry had never been hugged before. 

Well, at least by an adult. Hermione had hugged him plenty of times while Ron gave him these one armed gestures that counted… right? Maybe his parents used to hug him as a baby? He wouldn’t know either way. He’d used to spend some of the time in his cupboard imagining what it would be like to be held. Would his mother have played with his hair like he’d seen a girl at school’s mum do once? Would his father have given him a bear hug when he came home from school? 

Tears started to well at the corners of his eyes, a few traitorous ones escaping and running down his cheeks. 

“I know enough, Mr. Potter,” Snape’s voice was low and measured. “Believe me, I know enough.”

The rest of the tears fell as Harry gave into the growing urge to just cry. Everything that had been happening: the rumors going around the school about him, the voice, Ron’s sudden reveal, and Snape’s words all became too much for him to handle. 

So he started to cry into Snape’s dark robes as the man shifted around and awkwardly patted the top of his head. 

If he’d looked up, he would have seen the absolutely horrified and disgusted expression on Snape’s face. He would have seen how his shoulders seized up in discomfort. How the man desperately wanted to get away from the clearly emotional situation and be anywhere else. 

However, he did not look up.

And Snape did not leave, despite his wishes.


	5. Two Abused Boys in a Room, Talking About Important Things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprisingly enough, I found time to write when I was flipping out over stupid fireworks (I see no appeal in setting of explosions near /flammable/ houses but it's fine I'll just deal with my fears while everyone goes nuts).
> 
> Anyways, here's a chapter. Enjoy! (And remember to rate and review, last weeks comments really helped me get through some writer's block thank you all so much)
> 
> I hope you're all whole and hale.

“Are you ready to speak now, Mr. Potter?” Severus asked, watching the boy closely. Potter was staring at the fireplace in the man’s personal office now, a cup of hot chocolate cooling in his hands, untouched. He looked worn down, his expression completely blank as his eyes flicked towards Severus’s.

A stray hand reached up to his glasses, wiping away all evidence of his outburst. “What was the parchment for, Professor?” Potter replied in a whisper. 

Severus sighed, leaning back into his own chair, sipping at the tea he’d made. The only reason he hadn’t put in a spot of brandy in it was how the boy had eyed the bottle on the shelf in a distrusting manner. He knew all about the dangerous beast in man unleashed by alcohol. He’d just have to get plastered later and deal with the horrible mix of feelings locked away in his chest then. Now was the time for talking.

“I was checking you for enchantments and potions as well as your overall health.”

“Why?”

“Because whether you like it or not you are under speculation at the moment for being the Heir of Slytherin and I had to be sure,” he answered honestly, “Someone could be acting as the Heir without knowing if the right steps are taken. I wanted to be certain.”

Potter frowned, green eyes--Lily’s eyes, and wasn’t that painful--glaring at him in distrust. “Because I’m a Parselmouth and that’s bad.”

“No, you idiot,” Severus snapped, before reigning in his split second anger at the sight of Potter flinching. “No,” he corrected, “because you are the Boy-Who-Lived, which makes you a political tool that someone could use against Hogwarts. An unknowing Heir is a political nightmare and your mother was muggleborn. Who knows what squib lines came back from the dead through her.”

“My mother?” Potter’s head shot up. “Squib lines?”

He nodded. “Given the sheer amount of lines that went out, there is a strong opinion in certain social circles that muggleborns arise from the dead lines. Therefore it is entirely possible that you are an Heir of Slytherin.”

Potter paled. “But I’m not attacking students-”

“I never said you were,” Severus grumbled, crossing his arms. “You’re not the type and your friend is a muggleborn. I’m not an idiot, unlike the rest of the dunderheads in the castle.”

The boy relaxed, even letting out a small smile. Then he frowned. “Erm… Professor? If- If I  _ was _ the Heir… would the Sorting Hat have put me in Slytherin? I talked to him about it but he was rather vague and-”

Severus frowned, cutting him off. “The Hat does what it wants. And what does that have anything to do with…” His eyes narrowed, taking in Potter’s avoidant gaze and fidgeting. “You were almost sorted in Slytherin, weren’t you?”

Silence.

Then a nod.

“Yet the Hat put you in Gryffindor?”

“... I asked it to.”

“ _ Why _ ?”

Potter swallowed, the mug in his hand shaking. “Hagrid mentioned Voldemo-”

“Don’t say his name,” Severus hissed, the mark on his arm throbbing in pain.

The boy flinched, correcting himself, “He mentioned that  _ he _ was in that house. That there were a lot of bad wizards from Slytherin.”

Severus grumbled under his breath. “Of course he did.” He eyed Harry warily. “Look, Potter, not every bad wizard is from Slytherin. I know of plenty of wizards who were horrible that came from Gryffindor and Hufflepuff.”

Potter was silent for a long while, before continuing. “... Malfoy was also going into Slytherin and he… the mask he wears isn’t very nice. I didn’t want to be in the same house as him.” 

He snorted, before giving Potter that one. Severus had thought much the same thing when the Marauders had been sorted into Gryffindor. He hadn’t even tried to convince the hat to put him in the same house as Lily for that reason. “Regardless,” he returned to the conversation at hand, “I was only looking for influences that would cause problems.”

“You found something though, didn’t you?”

Severus quirked a brow at the astute observation. He had indeed found quite a few potions and spells that worried him. And ones that reeked of Dumbledore’s meddling. Damn that man. 

“I’m not stupid,” Potter grumbled, taking Severus’s reaction for one of surprise. 

“I never said you were.”

“But you didn’t think I would notice.”

“No, I did not,” Severus gave him that much. “Though not for the reasons you think. I’m a master of my emotions,”  _ for the most part, _ “and I like to pride myself on being unreadable.”

“You were very readable reading the paper. Furious-looking. What was wrong?” Potter pressed. 

“Emotional influencers are powerful things, especially in the wrong hands,” the man said in answer. “Especially potion based ones. Do you remember drinking or eating anything suspicious?”

Potter looked down at the mug of cocoa in his hands, then back at Severus. “No.”

He growled low in his throat, a Russian curse he’d learned from Karkoff years earlier slipping out. “Of course not. That would make things too easy.”

“Did I do something wrong?” The boy was shaking again, though clearly doing his best to hide it.

_ Deep breaths. He’s just a child. Deep breaths. It will do you no good to snap at him. Black will act like you’ve kicked a puppy if you are rude to him.  _

Severus told the voice in the back of his mind to shut up, but listened to it anyways. 

“You did nothing wrong,” he managed after a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m just irritated that someone was able to slip something into your system without me knowing.”

“Oh.”

“And one of them was put there to increase my animosity towards you.”

Potter blinked, looking clueless. “Animosity?”

Severus nodded and plowed through the explanation. “However, they didn’t consider other circumstances that prevent me from acting on any sort of  _ feeling _ .” Like his considerable skill with Occlumency. Or his Life Debt. Or the fact that he’d made  _ not one _ , but _ two _ Unbreakable Vows concerning Potter’s life and wellbeing. Or the fact that he’d been able to deny his feelings from day one of his Merlin-forsaken life just to get by because life didn’t give a damn about him.

_ Chill, Snape, _ Black’s voice seemed to whisper from the back of his mind

He took a breath. 

“Regardless of the hows, there is still a question of who and why,” Severus drawled, “And I’m going to figure it out.”

Potter glanced up at him. “Why?”

“Why what, Potter?” he snapped.

“Why do you care?” The boy was looking at him like he was some sort of scum on his shoe. Or… that’s what Severus’s first glance caught. On opening his mouth to rebuke him, he took another look. And then a third. Ah. That made more sense.

Potter was confused on why anyone would care about something being done to  _ him _ .

Likely the fault of those idiotic relatives of his.

Perhaps Black’s policy of looking past first glances was worth something after all.

Now how to answer Potter’s difficult question.

He thought for a long while before settling on something completely truthful, yet vague enough to keep his own secrets. “Because, Mr. Potter, there are people in this world who care deeply for your wellbeing and I feel it is owed that someone look after you in a way that they cannot currently provide.”

Potter’s eyes narrowed further. “And why should I believe you? Apparently everything I know about you is a lie. How can I trust you?”

_ Clever boy, _ Severus smirked.

“Because, Mr. Potter,” he drawled, dark eyes lighting with mirth, “I’m one of the only people in this world who has ever intention of keeping you alive long enough to  _ learn  _ who can or cannot be trusted.”

The boy swallowed nervously.

“Now drink your hot chocolate. We have a few more things to discuss and then I’ll send you up to Weasley and Granger. Merlin knows what tall-tales they’ve been concocting.”


	6. Shock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there you guys go! I hope you like the new chapter, even if it is a little bit of a filler. We just need Harry to have some time to process before some heavy plot stuff. 
> 
> Remember to comment and leave kudos. It really helps me keep up the work. 
> 
> And thanks to all of you who have been so kind to me.

Harry came back to Gryffindor tower confused and shaken by what Snape had told him. With each step up the staircase, his legs felt more and more like lead. He couldn’t even remember speaking to the Fat Lady to enter the common room. Or Hermione and Ron running up to him and helping him over to a couch (He’d looked as white as a sheet when he walked in, a pale and haunted expression on his face--almost like he had been petrified himself). 

After the tense drawn-out conversation over cocoa, the professor had filled his head with a million things he had no hope of remembering. How he should be careful of who he spoke to and check what he ate. He even gave Harry a spell that would detect potions in his food while subscribing various nutrient potions to try and regain what he’d lost with the Dursley’s that months in school had yet to fix. Snape had even given him a list of suggested foods that he could have Hermione monitor him for.

And then had said something in passing-- _ I shouldn’t be the one explaining, your mutt of a godfather should be for all the asking after you that he does _ \--under his breath. Harry probably hadn’t been meant to even hear it. A truth that ripped a hole in Harry’s world--one that had sent him reeling. 

He had a godfather.

A godfather who  _ loved  _ him.  _ Him _ .  _ Harry _ . A boy he’d never even met.

He’d asked questions, angry when Snape’s expression hardened, mistaking it for reluctance when he would later find it to be grief and pain. 

The man had answered. 

His godfather was in jail for a crime he never committed. 

If he hadn’t been put there he could have taken him away from the Dursley’s a while ago. 

Harry felt anger stir low in the pit of his stomach--an unquenchable flame of indignation. He had someone who would have cared for him that he’d never been able to meet because of the Ministry. The  _ Ministry _ . The people that Mr. Weasley worked for. The people who had sent him a letter that gave his relatives the upper hand.

“Harry...?” 

Did that mean all of them were like that? Was Mr. Weasley no different? 

“Harry?”

Mr. Malfoy was in the Ministry too. Could he have been-

“Harry!”

His head shot up in fright as Hermione’s voice snapped through his frenzied thoughts of anger and hurt. He blinked back into focus as both Ron and Hermione’s face pressed into his field of vision. Worry was written clear on his faces, and it seemed they’d both reached out to hold his hands. He didn’t feel the usual urge to tear out of their grasp. 

He was sitting.

When had that happened?

“Harry?” This time it was Ron who asked.

“Yeah?” he finally managed to reply, his tongue thick in his dry mouth. 

“You okay, mate?”

“I- I- I don’t know,” he whispered. 

“What did Professor Snape say?” Hermione asked. “He wouldn’t do anything, right? I know you don’t get along but-”

Harry shook his head. “He’s… better. When people aren’t watching.”

“So why are you…” Ron gestured towards all of him, earning a huff and eye roll from Hermione. 

Harry opened his mouth before closing it again. Somehow, this didn’t feel like something he could talk to them about. His godfather, that is. It was like how he never mentioned the Dursley’s or his cupboard. He didn’t want to worry them-- _ he wasn’t allowed to tell them anyways _ . And it wasn’t like it was their godfather--just his. Would it even make sense if he tried to explain why he was upset? Why he was nearly shaking in rage and hurt? No, it wouldn’t. They would ask questions and the Dursley’s never liked questions being sent their way concerning him. Especially from wizards, he would guess. That would get him in trouble for sure. More trouble than he already was for escaping with the Weasley’s. 

He wouldn’t tell them. 

He would keep this to himself.

He  _ had  _ to. 

So, instead of saying anything, he shook his head. “He- He explained a load of things. Still trying to wrap my head around it is all.”

“Oh.”

Hermione and Ron didn’t seem convinced at all but let it drop anyways. 

Sort of.

“Did you tell him about the voice you’ve been hearing?”

“You told me that was a bad thing,” Harry glared at Ron, “Why would I tell Snape anything about that?”

He shrugged. “Despite what you probably think, Professor Snape’s not very likely to treat you like a loon even if you tell him something outrageous. He has a soft spot for Luna and she’s an absolute nutter.”

“You can’t just say that, Ronald,” Hermione huffed, “That’s horribly rude-”

“Who’s Luna?”

Ron sighed, “Another one of our group. She’s great and all, but a little wrong in the head-”

“Ronald!”

“-She’s friendly with Neville though.”

Harry blinked in surprise, completely unaffected as Hermione started to puff up in preparation for a lecture about being nice. “ _ Neville’s _ a part of your club?”

He nodded. “Yeah. He’s damn good at magic too.”

Hermione and Harry both stared at Ron in surprise.

He grinned. “Bet you weren’t expecting that one, were you?”

“But… why…?” Hermione was completely flabbergasted.

Ron shrugged again. “His folks were pieces of work and treated him like a squib for forever. He got sick of it and decided he would give them what they wanted after Algernon dropped him out a window.”

Harry remembered that story. A deep swirl of guilt and apprehension settled in his stomach. That didn’t sound right. How could anyone have done such a thing to Neville for not showing magic? He knew people didn’t like squibs in this world--for whatever reason he couldn’t even begin to understand--but that was still wrong. 

It didn’t even occur to him that his situation was at all similar.

“That’s awful,” Hermione frowned, her brow furrowed.

The clock in the common room chimed that it was past curfew, sending Hermione into a fit. “Oh dear, and we have classes tomorrow! This is horrible for our sleep patterns.”

Ron exchanged a look with Harry as she fretted. “We’ll be fine, ‘Mione,” he assured the dark skinned girl as she started to pack up her books. “Besides, we have History tomorrow. We can sleep then to make up.” He ducked from a furious smack to the head from Hermione.

“We cannot sleep through our classes, Ronald!” she huffed, “We are here to get an education. How will we learn if we-”

Harry ducked up the stairs before he could play witness to yet another argument between the two of them. They were his best friends but… it was still exhausting to get caught in the crossfires. 

The dormitory was quiet when he got there, Neville fast asleep in his own burrito of blankets, while Seamus was flopped over his own bed, limbs akimbo. Dean was in the bed next to his, face half-pressed into a pillow and lined with a small sign of stress. Harry frowned at the sight before realizing that Dean was muggleborn too. He was in just as much danger as Hermione. 

A pit in his stomach began to form at the thought, and he made a note to talk to Dean tomorrow… if he would let him that is. The dark-skinned boy had been edging around him since he’d been revealed as a parselmouth. Maybe he believed Harry was guilty just like the Hufflepuffs.

Or rather, all the Hufflepuffs but Wren.

Harry shook his head. He had something he needed to do that didn’t involve thinking too deeply about things he couldn’t change. As silently as he could manage, he burrowed into his trunk, pulling out a piece of parchment and a quill and ink before closing his bed-curtains around his bed. 

He had a letter to write.


	7. Finally, Someone Gives Some Good Advice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Sorry for the delayed update. The chapter was written but my Beta didn't have time until yesterday to edit and I didn't want to give you guys a rough draft. Forgive me if you can. 
> 
> As a bit of a warning, there is implied suicidal thoughts in this chapter, not much but just wanted to give you fair warning.
> 
> Take care of yourselves guys.
> 
> In happier news, we get to meet our competent adult friend of the story in this chapter, yay!
> 
> Anyways, I hope you're all staying safe and healthy.
> 
> Remember to comment below, it really does amazing things for my ability to write. Enjoy!

Severus Snape woke up in the foulest of moods and with the worst of hangovers. He could feel the throbbing at the back of his neck and his temples like someone was beating them over and over again with a sledgehammer.  _ Merlin _ , what had he done to deserve  _ this _ ?

The completely empty pair of bottles of Rosmerta’s strongest gave him that answer.

He just glared at them in return for their accusing emptiness.

He’d had every right to get drunk last night.  _ Every damn right. _

_ Becoming an alcoholic isn’t the answer to your problems, Snape, _ Black’s voice echoed in his head. 

Why did he have to hear  _ him  _ even when he was hungover? 

Did this world hate him that much?

_ Har, har, go cry me a river _ , the voice continued blandly.  _ It’s your head, idiot. _

He told Black’s voice to shut up, grumbling as he got to his feet.

It was almost time for breakfast too. 

Merlin’s bushy arm hair. 

And Minerva had wanted to talk to him this morning too.

Severus cursed his existence as he changed out of his wrinkled robes and into something more presentable but still in his usual color of black. His oily hair was left to ruin like always--too much effort to fix it up after all this time. He tried to ignore the voice in the back of his head that talked about lack of self-care being a sign of ill health. 

He was fine.

It totally wasn’t like he still felt the pull of darkness whenever he woke up and felt like he hadn’t accomplished anything. He had something to fight for still. Getting Black out. Finding Lupin. Working to stop the Dark Lord’s return. 

Keeping Harry safe.

Severus shook his head at that last thought, purposefully not paying it any mind. 

He was fine, he repeated to himself again.

He hadn’t even tried to- attempt to- _do_ _anything._ Especially not for a couple of years. But no one needed to know about that. It was bad enough that Minerva had found him freezing in the Astronomy tower all those years ago--thus the visit. She was clearly still nervous around the holiday season.

He’d rather she wouldn’t be.

Severus vanished the bottles with a wave of his hand before grabbing his cloak and a handful of floo powder. Heading straight towards his fireplace--cursing the entire way that he didn’t have the time for his usual hangover cure--he called out a stern, “Minerva’s Office.”

With a flare of green fire, he walked through to the deputy headmistress’s office. Minerva was waiting for him on the other side, cocking her eyebrows as she glanced towards the clock. Her tartan robe was as unwrinkled as always, the woman ever unflappable and her temper oddly cool. “You’re late,” she chastened dryly.

“Late night,” he growled, taking a seat in the armchair that she gestured to. He glared at the cup of tea he found in his hands seconds later. He’d much prefer a proper cup of coffee right now to wake him up. To prepare him for the monsters that his coworkers called  _ children _ .

“No coffee until you’ve drunk some of that. She wrinkled her nose. “You’ve been drinking--I can smell it on your breath, don’t bother denying it,” Minerva huffed when he opened his mouth to argue.

Severus’s mouth snapped shut.

He glowered, sipping on the tea, not enjoying the smug look on her face as she revelled in the fact that she’d won. “What did you want to talk about, Minerva?” he grimaced, wrinkling his nose at the faint taste of chamomile. Oh, she was doing this on purpose, and he knew it.

“Just checking in,” she replied mildly, “I hear you made quite the spectacle of Lockhart the other day.”

“That buffoon doesn’t know how to teach, much less duel,” he huffed.

Minerva snorted.

“Why  _ Albus _ ,” he practically spat out the name, “insists on hiring such incompetents when I am clearly able and willing to fill the role is insulting. I think a teaspoon would be better at teaching than this pompous arse!”

“Language.”

Severus glared at her harder. “You and I both know I could say far worse things.”

“You have in the past,” she agreed, voice still mild and warm, “And I am aware that you very well know why Albus does not give you the post. He still believes that there is some curse-”

“Then hire a bloody cursebreaker,” he snarled. 

“Someone has certainly put a bee in your bonnet,” Minerva mused, sipping at her drink. 

“You’re restraining my ability to drink the only thing worth living for in this world besides alcohol.”

“It’s morning, Severus.”

“Which means somewhere out there it is five pm. I am not a child, I can drink what I want.”

She quirked a brow, clearly unimpressed by his  _ childish _ behavior and his claim to being otherwise. “Now, Severus-”

“Don’t ‘ _ Now, Severus _ ’ me, Minerva,” he hissed. “That’s Dumbledore’s job.”

There was a sharp look in her eye now, one that had him shrinking down and mumbling a half-hearted apology.

“That’s better,” she hummed, sipping at her tea and leaning back. “How are your classes getting along?”

“Awful. I can’t stand any of them, the blithering dunderheads,” he grumbled, though it was a half-hearted effort at best, “Especially your Gryffindors, not an ounce of intelligence in the lot of them.” Now that was a lie, and they both knew it. Minerva had gotten him particularly drunk one evening and heard all about how impressed he was with Granger and the Weasley twins' abilities in potions, though he’d thankfully been able to keep mum about everything else.

“I’m sure,” she snorted, starting to relax.

“And don’t even get me started on Longbottom. That boy will destroy all the cauldrons I have by the end of the year!” He started into a nonsensical rant about the pureblood with gusto, letting his mind wander elsewhere than the pre-prepared deluge of insults. Really, the boy was very clever about his aspirations to fool everyone into believing such incompetence. He seemed to know the exact way to get the bubbling acid to form in the potion no matter the ingredients. Perhaps Severus should investigate such obvious brewing skill. Sabotage, was of course, the best way to show one’s understanding of a subject. He’d have to think on such things later.

Preferably after a coffee.

If Minerva would ever let him have one.

He paused, stopping mid-rant. “Why am I here, Minerva?”

Might as well cut to the chase, yes? Convince the woman that she need not worry about him offing himself before his task was done. He had better things to do than prattle on about socially appropriate nothings. Like figure out what to do now that Potter and Granger were aware of his plots. Or continue to piece together all the clues he knew were  _ somewhere _ about why something seemed off about Miss Weasley-

“Mimsy mentioned your recent difficulties of feeding yourself and finding time to rest. I figured that was something worth talking about.”

Drat.

That tattle-tale. 

“I’m fine-”

“Severus Snape, you will talk to me about this, now.” Minerva scolded before he could gear up to something unpleasant. 

He sunk in his seat. “I know my limits, Minerva. You and I both know this Heir of Slytherin business requires late night research. I’ve yet to find any clues outside of random rooster slayings and petrification to go off of. There’s no creature that seems to corroborate with either finding, much less anything to find what’s making it attack students. I’ve been researching-”

“It’s nearly the holidays, Severus-”

“-which makes it all the better considering I  _ loathe _ the holidays.” He glowered, waving his hand on finally receiving a cup of coffee. “I’m more than willing to ignore they exist and figure this bloody matter out.”

Minerva pursed her lips, giving him a once over. “Very well, but I’ll be monitoring you closely, Severus.”

He grimaced.

“Don’t give me that look. It’s for your own good, you know. And don’t think I don’t remember how you passed out last year trying to add wards to the third corridor on Christmas Eve of all times. You were lucky Filch found you before I did.”

Severus looked away, sulking. “It was a necessary precaution that Dumbledore was refusing to-”

“You could have asked for help.”

“It wouldn’t have been given.”

“I would have helped you.”

“I didn’t want your help. I don’t  _ need _ your help,” he snarled, standing up. “Just leave me alone, Minerva. Thank you for the tea and coffee, but I best be off. I have classes to prepare for.”

He stormed back towards the floo, leaving Minerva behind to sigh to herself. “What am I going to do with you?” she murmured, an age old sadness creeping into her voice.


	8. The Room of Requirement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! 
> 
> Just so you guys are aware, I had this chapter drafted before all the BLM stuff that's been going on. I will admit, I'm a white girl (who happens to be autistic so some of this stuff is a little over my head on trying to empathize since I have an empathy disorder that I'm trying to work at), so I tried to address racism the best I could. Please let me know (kindly if you could, I really am just trying my best), if I messed anything up so I can try and fix it. 
> 
> With that disclaimer out of the way, I hope you enjoy this chapter. It's a long one and a lot of plot things are set in motion. 
> 
> I still love and appreciate any comments you can leave me since it really helps.
> 
> Thanks for all the lovely comments people have already left me. 
> 
> Now, Enjoy!

“Maybe this isn’t such a good idea,” Harry muttered, fidgeting as Ron led him and Hermione to the fifth floor corridor. He had woken both of them early that Saturday, saying there was a meeting set up for the whole group. Neville was already gone by the time Harry had startled awake at his touch. He’d been dreaming of the high-pitched laughter and the green light again. Harry quickly ignored that line of thought, shaking his head as he refocused on the matter at hand.

He was going to be meeting the rest of Ron’s secret group of friends.

A group of friends which included Draco. 

Harry swallowed nervously. 

Sure, Draco had been sort of nice the other day but… that was when he was alone, or at least mostly alone. Harry knew all about how people acted around their friends. Dudley became more vicious when his peers were around--more likely to shove or kick Harry rather than make horrible comments about his parents. What if Draco was like that? He’d already shown himself to be nasty when Crabbe and Goyle were around. Even if it was just an act… he had the capability to do so.

He felt Hermione wrap her small hand around his and squeeze, nearly causing him to jump. Harry glanced at his friend to see her giving him an uncharacteristically nervous smile. 

Hermione was scared too. 

Normally, this would make Harry exponentially nervous, because out of the three of them Hermione was honestly the most brave, almost the most Gryffindor in his opinion. If she was nervous--actually nervous, not the prattling she did when it came to schoolwork--then there was something to be scared about. 

But not this time.

Instead, Harry felt a swell of courage as he squeezed her hand back. If she was afraid, he would be the brave one. He gave her a weak smile before turning to Ron, who’d been watching them. “Ready?” he asked his friend.

Ron grinned back at him and slung one of his own arms around Hermione. “Of course, mate.” 

He led them towards a door that Harry had never seen before across from a strange tapestry with dancing trolls. “We hold our meetings in the Come-and-Go room,” Ron explained, pressing on the door to slowly help it creak open. “That way, no one we don’t want to enter can. We just have to specify who can come in or not. That’s why you can see the door, anyone else would just see a wall, which let me tell you, can be bloody trippy at moments.”

“Language, Ronniekins!” Fred’s voice called out as the room was exposed to Harry’s sight. 

It wasn’t what he was expecting—not that he was expecting anything in particular per say—but looked rather like a less sickening version of Aunt Petunia’s parlor. Instead of the pastel and beige colors of her carpet and curtains, there were dark woods and rich greens and blues. Some flames licked at bricks in a grated fireplace on the other side of the room. It… looked rather similar to Snape’s personal quarters if Harry was honest. 

He didn’t know how to feel about that. 

Draco and some other Slytherins Harry didn’t recognize at first were bent around a table working on a Herbology essay, talking amongst themselves. Wren looked almost fast asleep, leaning against a petite blonde girl’s legs who was braiding her massive mess of curls back into multiple rows from where she was sitting on the couch. Neville was next to both of them, calling unhelpful answers out to the Slytherins—one turning enough for Harry to recognize it to be Millicent Bulstrode as she flipped him off. Neville chortled, grinning back at her before returning to the book in his hands about rare plants. Meanwhile on the other couch, Fred was lounging along with his brother, grinning at the three of them. 

“Yeah,” George agreed, his socked feet in his twin’s lap. The two of them seemed to be pouring over a parchment of sorts, nudging each other when they wanted to show their twin something. “Wouldn’t want-”

“-Mummy dearest to hear-” Fred picked up.

“-those nasty words-” said George.

“-from your mouth-”

George smirked. “-would you?”

“Oh, sod off,” Ron glared at them before making a rude gesture with his hand that had Hermione berating him.

Neville finally seemed to notice them and grinned. “Ron finally told you, did he?”

Harry gave a slight nod. 

“Didn’t have much of a choice,” Wren drawled, clearly not as asleep as she seemed, “considering how Draco and I swooped in.” 

The dreamy-looking girl above her giggled. “He’s particularly susceptible to nargles, just like Harry.”

“Oi!” Ron puffed up in defense. “There was no good time to bring it up.”

“You could have before letting Hermione  _ petrify  _ me in first year,” Neville piped up, centering Ron with an upset expression. 

Ron shrugged. “We had things to do. Professors to frame.”

Neville huffed and turned away. 

“I really am sorry about that,” Hermione mumbled. “We were just trying to-”

“It’s fine, Hermione,” he cut in, “You already apologized a lot last year.”

She reddened. “Still…”

“Water under the bridge,” he told her before looking towards Draco. “Hey, did I use the phrase right?”

The blonde made an uncommitted noise.

“Since when is Malfoy the expert on muggles?” Hermione grumbled, crossing her arms.

“He’s literally the only one besides Wren who can navigate muggle London,” Neville shrugged. “I trust his judgement.”

“He put you in a leg-locker curse a few weeks ago!”

“No,  _ Malfoy did _ . There’s a difference.”

Hermione looked ready to pop a gasket causing Harry and Ron to both inch away from her. Before the inevitable tirade could start, however, the strange bug-eyed blonde from before cut in.

“Gulping Plimpies often interfere with all of our lives. Draco has particularly nasty ones to deal with.”

“What are Gulping Plimpies?” Harry found himself asking before he could stop himself.

The blonde looked ecstatic, “A breed of plimpy that travels on land. A nice gurdyroot will fend them off though.”

“Uh…”

“That’s Luna-speak for ‘problems that can’t be solved by magic’,” Fred piped up, throwing what seemed to be a Bertie Bott bean into George’s mouth without looking. He succeeded, letting out a whoop of glee. “You get used to it.”

“Yeah, our lovely lady-” George continued.

“- is enigmatic-” Fred grinned throwing another bean successfully. 

“-until you crack the genius code that is-”

“-Luna-speak,” both finished.

“Oh.” Harry blinked.

Hermione seemed to bristle. “That doesn’t make sense. Why not just speak clearly?”

“Because it’s Luna,” Wren and Neville stated at the same time, snorting at each other. Wren was the one to continue. “Luna’s great like that. Absolute mad genius too. We all knew the Hat’d put her in with the ‘Claws.”

Luna’s pale face pinked at the ears as Neville and the Slytherins at the table reached over to hug her slight frame. The show of affection had Harry shifting where he was standing. It was weird to see such… displays. He knew--at the back of his head--that it was a normal  _ friend _ thing to do. But… He swallowed thickly and moved a touch farther away from Hermione and Ron in case they got the same idea. Harry could still clearly remember the hug from Snape earlier that week and the overly affectionate manner that Hermione and Ron had treated him with afterwards. 

He didn’t think he was ready to handle more of it anytime soon. 

Even if it did feel nice. 

Harry shivered as he felt Luna’s gaze move towards him. “You have a nasty nargle infection. Have you been in contact with Doddledarves? They’re notorious for causing nargle swarms.”

Whatever she meant by that, Harry could see as everyone in the room exchanged glances. The present Weasley’s even grimaced, and he spotted Ron shooting Harry a glance. 

“What’s a-”

“I’ll tell you later, ‘Mione,” Ron hissed, elbowing her in the side. He clearly didn’t know Harry could hear him. 

The dark haired boy felt horribly exposed in that moment, his eyes falling to the floor as he fidgeted. If he’d been looking he would have noticed the almost calculating look on Wren’s face before she got to her feet, dancing towards him. Harry startled when her face was shoved into his view. “Gah!” he flailed backwards, only saved from falling by Wren’s hand grabbing his own and acting as a counterweight. 

“You wanted to talk about politics, right?” she asked quietly, a tone of mischief in her voice. “Ron said you made your decision.”

Harry swallowed before nodding. “Er, yeah. I- Ron explained everything… or at least most things. I… I think I’m ready to listen now.”

“Excellent,” she grinned, before tugging him towards a corner filled with squishy bean-bag chairs and books. 

“Oh now you’ve done it,” George groaned, Neville joining in. 

At his questioning gaze, Draco explained. “Wren’s… very interested in politics.”

“You are?” Harry looked back at her, feeling even more terrified as Wren nodded. She was tearing books and scrolls from the bookcase and laying them down on the floor in a specific pattern, glaring angrily as Hermione--who’d followed them--nudged one with her foot. 

“Sit! Sit!” she ordered, even shoving Hermione into her seat. “I have so much to teach you both because you’re  _ dismal _ .”

Hermione’s temperflared. “It’s not like anyone’s taken the time to teach us anything. Why should we already know this?”

The others in the room turned towards her. “They don’t teach you  _ anything _ ?” Neville repeated, looking at her and Harry in horror.

The muggleborn shifted in her seat, looking oddly bashful. “Well, as far as I can tell… no. They don’t.” She ran a hand through her poofy dark hair. “It- The Wizarding World is like being thrown into a class having never heard of the subject and everything being taught in a different language.” She crossed her arms. “It takes work to even try and get information out of your lot on how to act, and everything is biased to whoever’s side it is on. I even tried talking to Pansy on the train to see what she thought of everything and…” Hermione’s face darkened even more. “I’m used to racism already but what she said was  _ horrible. _ ”

The Slytherins looked absolutely nauseous. Harry assumed--rightfully he would find out later--it was because they were familiar with Pansy Parkinson’s level of vitriol. He’d barely spoken with her but he’d heard her spreading a rumor about Lavender Brown the other day that had his stomach still churning. She was  _ vile _ and  _ cruel _ . 

The Weasleys’ faces turned stony. “What did she say?” Fred asked, his voice cool.

Hermione shrugged. “It’s not so bad looking back at it. Still…” she brought her knees up to her chin. “It was my first day of school and I already knew I would be judged for something I couldn’t control. I was upset. It was the same in primary school.”

Harry swallowed, moving to knock his elbow against hers. He earned a weak smile for his efforts. 

“That doesn’t make it right,” George growled.

Hermione shot him a  _ look _ . “I know it’s not, I’m not an _ idiot _ ,” she huffed.

“We know, ‘Mione.” Ron told her. “You’re a bloody genius is what you are.”

“The smartest witch we know,” Harry agreed softly.

The anger in her eyes melted away at the praise and she gave them both award winning smiles--far better than Lockhart’s anyday. 

“What…” Neville asked after a long moment of silence, “What did you mean when you said ‘racism’?”

Hermione and Harry both blinked at him, and then looked at everyone else. Fred and George were shrugging, looking about as clueless as everyone else. Only Wren, Luna, and Draco seemed to have any reaction, all three looking a little queasy. “It’s when someone isn’t nice to you based upon where you’re from,” Wren said after a while, “right? That’s what it seemed like in the books I’ve read.”

Harry looked at her in surprise. “You read books about it?”

She shrugged, “Draco likes muggles almost as much as Mr. Weasley does and I technically have the only connections to the muggle world to get him books on history stuff. I ended up reading some of them.”

“Oh,” Harry shifted to relax more into his seat. “Well, you’ve got the gist of it.”

“Why would it matter where you’re from?” Millicent piped up, frowning. 

“Because,” Hermione was clearly gearing up to a rant, “some people are stupid enough to believe the the color of your skin determines your worth and ‘cleanliness’. Just because I have darker skin, people think that I’m lower than they are, or sometimes even a criminal. My parents brought me to the States once and it was horrible. Some people said such awful things that I ended up crying trying to figure out what was so wrong with being dark skinned.” She looked down at her coffee colored arms. “In history they even sold people as slaves if they were descended from Africa. All because we were different.” Hermione sniffed, promptly scratching away at the tears lining her eyes. “It’s not fair, but…” she sighed, “it is what it is. Infuriating.”

Harry gave her a pat on her hand, still reluctant to do much more but knowing his friend needed the contact. “You’ll show them all up. Who knows, maybe someday you can make sure they know they’re all idiots.”

She let out a wet laugh. “You can bet on it.”

They smiled at each other.

“That… that doesn’t make any sense,” George frowned. “Stuff like that doesn’t matter here as long as you can trace your origins, no one cares what you look like… well,” his expression turned sheepish, “unless, that is, you have creature blood in you, but that’s all creature-stigma. And that’s just… silly. Never bought into any of it.”

“It’s the same,” Hermione pointed out. “Either way, I’m insulted for being born as I am. Muggleborn or black. It’s just something I’ll have to deal with.” She glanced at Harry. “And Harry too.”

He squirmed uncomfortably as eyes turned on him. “I… I didn’t have it that bad. People just didn’t ever… take my word for anything is all.” And called him names. And spread rumors about him and his lineage. Called him shifty. Turned a blind eye towards-

Harry shut down the spiralling line of thinking.

He was sure Luna had noticed it as she hummed again, but thankfully said nothing this time. 

“We trust you, Harry,” Fred said after a beat. 

Harry pinked. “Thanks. That… means a lot.”

The twins just smiled at him knowingly. “You’re family at this point, that’s what we do.”

He didn’t know what to say to that, his chest warming along with his face in a manner that felt almost feverish. Harry quickly shoved the thoughts that rose at the statement. He couldn’t deal with that right now. Not after all the other surprises that had been thrown at him. “You, er,” his voice cracked in a way that made him wince, “politics?”

Wren, who’d been watching him and Hermione closely, nodded, though there was something in her eyes that had Harry wary. He couldn’t read her. At all. While he wasn’t the best at understanding others, he liked to think he had a good sense of what they were thinking or feeling. But not her. She was completely blank even as she smiled back at him. He hunched his shoulders up to his ears as she started to talk. 

“Well, I guess there’s no better place to start than the Sacred Twenty-Eight and the bloody nightmare we call the Wizengamot.” she grinned.

***

“So, wait,” Hermione said her face twisted in disgust. “You’re saying that- that they- ewww! That’s horrific. Don’t they know what inbreeding can do? People can become sterile, if not misshapen or horribly brain damaged.”

Wren shrugged, “They think putting faith in blood purity is more important than the other consequences.”

Hermione shuddered, “I’ll take my mudblood status, thank you.”

Everyone in the room flinched at her words.

Harry frowned, “But… not all families are like that, right? You didn’t mention the Potters-”

“The Potters aren’t considered part of the Twenty-Eight because of my ancestor’s prejudice,” Theo piped up. “They’re a different stock because they recognized that it was disturbing. Some of them follow it and some of them don’t. I think you and Draco are technically like third or second cousins because of Dorea Black-”

“Third cousins if you go by Blacks,” Wren confirmed. “Though if you look at it, Euphemia is one of the branch members of the Lestrange family of which Draco is related to by marriage so it’s a little iffy there.”

Draco looked queasy. “Didn’t need the reminder of Aunt Bella, thanks.”

Harry glanced towards Draco. “So we’re cousins?”

He nodded, “But I already knew that.”

The Gryffindor could feel an overwhelming aching sensation in his chest. He had  _ family. _ Family that was still alive. He swallowed around the knot in his throat. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

Wren’s expression darkened. “Dumbledore most likely. He likes to meddle where he doesn’t need to.”

“Because he’s the Chief of the Wizengamot?” Hermione frowned. Everyone had been rather detailed in their approach of tearing a giant hole into the headmaster’s facade. It had left her reeling and angry.

Harry was used to being disappointed by adults. Everyone pretended to be someone different when they were out in public. That was normal. Hermione just hadn’t learned that lesson yet, despite Ron breaking the news about Draco. It was just like the muggle world. He didn’t bother to point that out to her, especially given the murderous gaze she’d sent Ron’s way when he’d tried to tease her over the matter.

“Yeah,” Blaise sighed, sitting so that the back of his seat was pressed to his chest as he leaned forward. “If it’s part of his Light agenda, then he’s going to support it. Especially if that keeps the ‘Boy-Who-Lived’ outside of old family control. I reckon he’s just bitter about not being like us.”

Wren nodded. “Doesn’t help that his family’s been disgraced ever since his father was sent to Azkaban.” At everyone’s shocked expressions she shrugged. “I did some research when Uncle Sev came back from one of Dumbledore’s meetings. He’s been running him ragged for the last couple of years and I figured it was high time someone went looking for answers. Found some other things.”

“I forgot how scary you are,” Ron muttered, earning a sharp smile. 

“Hufflepuff loyalty,” she pointed out, “Just because everyone else thinks we’re a bunch of do-gooders doesn’t mean that we’re all like that. Not everybody’s loyal to the same cause. I’m just glad Dumbledore hasn’t figured that out yet.”

“Thank goodness for oversight,” Millicent said, flopping over onto one of the couches. 

Harry frowned, “Wait, which side does that mean you’re on?”

Everyone looked at him.

He flushed, “I’m not completely blind. Everyone I’ve talked to have made it seem like there’s two sides to choose from: Professor Dumbledore’s and Voldemort’s.” They all winced at the name. “It’s just a name,” he growled, temper flaring up.

Fred and George shook their heads. “It’s more than a name, mate.” Ron explained, sitting next to him as he looked down at the ground. “It’s an Invocation of his spirit. Almost like summoning ill will. He put a taboo on it in the first war and we don’t know how much of the Old Ways he managed to learn. If you have rotten enough luck, you could get hurt just saying it.”

Instantly, Harry’s backbone softened. “Oh.” His nose wrinkled as his face scrunched up. “No one explained that to me.”

The Slytherin’s just stared at him in shock while Fred and George started to crack up.

“And here-”

“-we were thinking-”

“-you were just too-”

“-foolhardy for your own-”

“-good!”

“Seriously, mate, you didn’t know?” Ron looked at him, gobsmacked. 

“No one told me,” Harry hissed, glaring at the ground. “How was I supposed to know?”

Ron held his hands up in surrender. “Sorry.”

Wren frowned, looking closely at Harry like he was a puzzle. “Why didn’t your relatives tell you?”

“They’re muggles and they don’t like magic.”

“That’s an understatement,” Ron murmured.

“Right,” Wren didn’t look like she believed them but let the topic drop. She shook her head after a minute, “To get back to your original question, though, most people do see it that way. There’s Light and Dark. Currently, Dumbledore is heading the Light faction while the Dark faction is festering in the shadows. During the war, it was the Light that was nearly extinguished. Light and Dark have been unbalancing each other for centuries. Over time families have taken certain likings to old ways and magics as well as politics that label them as Light or Dark. Most lines in Slytherin are Dark-affiliated or at least Dark-allies. Ravenclaw is usually half and half, with Hufflepuff being mostly Light but some Dark families. Gryffindor, however, is the champion of the Light families. It’s why Dumbledore favors it so much. It fits  _ his _ politics.”

His brow furrowed, “But that doesn’t answer my question. If there’s only two sides what side are  _ you _ loyal to?”

“I’m loyal to a side that hasn’t existed since the 1800s,” she stated seriously, “We all are.” 

The room was filled with nodding heads.

“But how-”

She interrupted him before he could continue. “There’s always some people that fall between Light and Dark. Recently, people view them as weak, or even suck-ups who play to the whims of whoever’s currently in power. Neutral or Grey families are much more rare, as most have had to take a side or particular stance.” Wren shifted in her seat. “For example, my family is technically Grey at the moment, but is considered Dark-affiliated because of my uncle’s stance and support of others. The Selwyns have been Grey for generations now, but their affiliation still flip-flops between heads of houses. My mother is the newest head of our house, but she doesn’t have as much say in politics as she would like since she married my father.”

“Why would your father change things?” Harry frowned. 

“Because my father is of unknown parentage,” Wren stated cooly. “He was adopted when he was young and his Gringotts bloodline test has been kept secret. The only thing my family knows is that he was a half-blood. This made him ‘acceptable’ but has since ruined my mother’s power when it comes to the family dynamic.”

“Politics interfere with family?” Hermione looked queasy as she asked. 

“In some families more than others,” Draco piped up, not looking much better himself, “And especially if they’re old money and of high standing. I think the worst of them are the Selwyns, the Blacks, the Lestranges and my own family.”

“Longbottom branch families can be dicey too,” Neville piped up.

Harry’s mind didn’t pay attention to Neville’s description of his own family’s politics, his thoughts having stuttered to a halt after ‘Blacks’. His godfather’s household. Was it because of politics that he was sent to jail without a trial? Were all Blacks nice like him? Was he related to Sirius? 

His thoughts spun in dizzying circles for the rest of the afternoon, Hermione and Ron easily guiding conversation around them after a little prompting from Luna. He didn’t even take note of their efforts, or he would have thanked them as they left hours later with promises of another meeting taking place soon. It wasn’t until later that night as he took out the letter he had written the night before and studied it in the dying light of the flame near his bed, eyes hungry and hollow.

No one noticed how Wren watched Harry closely as he left, a frown on her face and a promise in her eyes.


	9. Where Severus Isn't an Owl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone. Just a short chapter this week. I'm a little behind in writing, since I'm finishing up another writing project of my own and preparing for grad school in the fall (it's been a bloody nightmare with COVID). Anyways, hopefully I can get more written so I can have an update next week, but don't be surprised if it's delayed until the following week. 
> 
> Sorry again if it is delayed.
> 
> I hope you're all safe and have been enjoying reading so far. 
> 
> Anyways, here is chapter nine! Remember to comment, it really helps the creative juices flow when I know my stuff is appreciated. Thank you to all who've chimed in so far, it's been nice and I really enjoy what you guys have to say.

Severus was pointedly ignoring the drilling stare that Potter was sending him during class. As he marched between rows of cauldrons, he counted down the time in which it would take Longbottom to turn his latest one into a cesspool of acidic poison. He didn’t want to deal with the way Potter was boring into him. He wasn’t being particularly subtle either. 

Merlin save him from idiotic Gryffindors.

“Potter,” he hissed, “if you have nothing better to do than galavant in whatever fantasy you’ve dreamed up for yourself you can spend a night in remedials. Detention!”

He ignored how relieved Potter seemed to be at his statement and made his way to the other side of the room. 

POOF!

There was a gurgling sound of sludge splashing onto the ground and shrieking from the students.

Longbottom’s timing was getting better.

The Potion’s Master was busy grading essays when he felt a breach in the wards around his classroom. 

Potter was late. 

He flicked the door open with his wand, exposing the sight of the small, dark-haired boy raising his hand to knock. Severus hid a smirk. It was a cheap intimidation tactic, but he didn’t care. Keeping Potter on his toes would keep him alive someday. Mmn, perhaps he should drill him on how to sneak away from combat situations? It would be easier than keeping a constant eye on him like he was now. 

Potter-watching was exhausting. He didn’t know how Black and Lupin did it.

His heart pointedly  _ did not ache _ at the thought of his frie-  _ casual acquaintances _ . 

He stubbornly ignored another Black-like voice in the back of his head teasing him for being soft. 

He  _ wasn’t _ soft.

“You weren’t paying attention in class today, Mr. Potter,” he stated cooly as the boy slowly inched into the room, watching him warily. Severus sighed. He’d hoped their next encounter wouldn’t be so fraught with… outside issues. Merlin, he should have known better. The universe loved to tear any hopes and dreams for the future that he made. He might as well wish for the Dark Lord to win just so it wouldn’t happen.

Potter’s shoulders hitched up to his ears in a defensively aggressive stance. One Severus was all too familiar with. Lovely. He’d have to address that sooner rather than later. 

He’d almost missed Potter mumbling under the deluge of thoughts and acerbic comments he wanted to make at the sight of him. The boy looked even more sickly than when he last looked at him. He wasn’t paid enough for this. 

“Speak up, Mr. Potter. I do not answer to mumbling.”

The boy shifted around a little more before placing a letter on Severus’s desk with his scratchy, chicken-like handwriting. Severus’s eyes narrowed on the name.  _ To Sirius Black. _

“And what is this, Mr. Potter?” he asked almost silkily.

“... You mentioned Sirius Black when we last talked. You made it seem like you were in contact with him.”

Clever boy. 

Still, not good enough of an explanation. “And?”

“I-” Potter seemed to shrink even more even as a bubbling anger boiled behind his cursed green eyes in a way that almost made Severus worry for his safety. He’d have to take care of that too.  _ Merlin’s beard _ , of course James Potter’s child would be so difficult. “I wanted to pass a letter along. Get- Let him know that I- that I know he’s innocent. Her-Hermione told me about Azkaban. He shouldn’t be there. I want to help.”

Severus blinked.

He blinked again.

_ What _ ?

Of all the things he had expected from an ‘impromptu’ visit from Potter this was not it. 

_ He’s also Lily’s child _ , a voice so similar to Albus’s set him on edge.  _ He has her kindness. You’ve seen it before. _

He shoved the image of Lily back and away, locking it behind the maze of bookshelves and potions that littered his mind. He would deal with it later. Or never, which was preferable. 

“I am not an owl,” Severus stated instead.

Potter’s neck was practically hidden by his hunched shoulders. “I know you’re not,” he snapped.

Severus blinked, having not expected the anger. He looked closely at his student and frowned at what he saw. There was a nervous twitch in his clenched fists and his gaze was stony as his emerald green eyes stared at the stone beneath their feet. The flames in them spoke of a barely restrained temper that came from fear. Potter was scared. Potter was upset. Potter was… vulnerable.

_ Merlin’s beard. _

He needed alcohol to deal with this.

“I suppose I can take the letter to your godfather when I leave to see him during the holidays,” Severus hedged after a pause.

Potter’s head shot up. His eyes were wide and almost tearfilled. Great. Just great. He didn’t have the capacity to do anything if the child wanted comfort. 

Abort.

He switched tactics, “I needed to speak to him anyways. Don’t think this is a favor.”

Potter sniffled.

Crap.

Severus looked for any other hint of what he should be doing in this situation when Potter rubbed at his eyes and erased the traces of his tears. At least the boy had enough pride to do so. The Potion’s Master wouldn’t know what to do if he didn’t. 

“Thank you, professor.” Severus was thrown at the amount of respect in Potter’s voice. He sounded… almost hopeful. The professor shivered.

“Yes, well, I suppose there is something you could do for me in return for my services.”

The boy straightened up, looking at Severus warily. 

Good. 

He wasn’t totally soft. That was a good sign. He’d make a true Slytherin out of this boy yet. A fact that would help Severus sleep at night instead of worry. Not that he worried about Potter or any of his other children. Definitely not. He was not attached. Attachment led to loss. 

He knew that lesson well enough.

“It will ultimately be to both our benefits, Mr. Potter, if you were to learn from this book.” Severus removed a worn-down and self-annotated book from his desk and slid it towards him. 

Potter frowned before squinting--another thing Severus would have to worry about, damn Dumbledore’s orders--at the text like he could barely make it out. “Mastery of the Mind: A Guide to Occlumency?” He struggled with the last word as he frowned. “What’s Occlumen-”

“A mind magic that allows you to protect your memories and thoughts for others who would try to peruse through them like a library of their own,” Severus interrupted. “I figure between you and Miss Granger you can figure it out like the others have. I’ve taught each of them personally since our… group is run in secret.”

“There are people who can read my mind?” Potter gawped.

Severus tsked, a swell of irritation at the oversimplification of one of the most complicated magics. Honestly, did anyone think besides him? “No, Mr. Potter. The mind is not like a book. It’s a landscape that those like the Dark Lord and Headmaster can access inside your mind. Think of it less like reading whatever drivel you have for thoughts and more like immersing oneself with a person’s entire being: thoughts, emotions, memories. All easy prey.”

The boy gulped, a clear fear in his eyes. “Dumbledore can do that?” he asked, eyes haunted. “He can see inside my head? In all those ways?”

“Precisely.” Severus got to his feet. “However, Dumbledore, while skilled, has a weakness like any other legimens. He needs eye-contact to penetrate the mind. Don’t look into his eyes, and you’ll be fine until you can learn.”

He swallowed. “P- Professor…?”

“Yes?”

“Does that mean Hermione and me knowing put the others in danger?”

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Have you interacted at all with the Headmaster?”

“No, but-”

“Then we are fine. Just avoid eye contact until you can learn,” the Potion’s Master snapped, regret stinging him when he saw Potter flinch at his rebuke. “You will report to Miss Lovegood. She’s a natural Legimens and skilled at the craft. She’ll test whatever barriers you and Miss Granger have managed to concoct. In return for doing this, I will take your letter to Black. Do we have an accord?”

Potter looked at him in a mix of confusion and wariness.

Severus sighed. Imbeciles, honestly. “I’m asking if you are in agreement with this deal of ours, Potter.”

The boy hesitated, before nodding. “Deal.” 

“You may leave then. And next time,” Severus growled, “you wish to speak, don’t be so obvious.”

“Yes, Professor.” Potter grabbed the book and ran out the door.

Severus was left alone in his classroom, watching the door with trepidation. He didn’t like what he saw in that boy. Potter was far too similar to another dark haired boy who had thrown his lot in with the first people who had treated him kindly. A boy who had seen far too much cruelty in the world that he’d started to give it back to whoever he had deemed his enemy. A boy who cared far too little for his life than was probably smart.

It frightened him to see such a capacity in Potter.

But what frightened Severus more was how he couldn’t figure out if he was thinking of Black or himself.


	10. Interfering Bumblebees

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all, sorry for the slightly later update for today. I'm having to pack up so I can move into my apartment in a couple of days and things have been super hectic. I haven't had much time to write. Forgive me?
> 
> Anyways, warnings for some angst, this chapter is more than a bit sad in my opinion, but Sirius returns so that's always nice. 
> 
> Regardless, please remember to comment, I really really like feedback and it helps me write. Also, there's a special surprise in the next update that I'm really excited to show you all, so... yeah.
> 
> Have fun and stay safe guys!

Severus stared at the letter Potter had left him with dark eyes. Everything had been packed away for the holidays, and most of his students were out of his dungeon, save for the ones he liked to keep close. The ones of his little ‘club’ had all chosen to stay behind despite his insistence that it might be safer if they went home considering the monster loose in the castle, but none of them had listened. So, instead, they’d set up a small fort up in the Room of Requirement to spend the holiday in. 

He was expected to show up later that night.

He grimaced. It sounded far too…  _ social  _ in his opinion, but he knew there would be  _ tears _ if he didn’t show up, and frankly that was worse. So his visit would have to be short. Grabbing his cloak and the rest of his things onto his person--taking time to carefully conceal Potter’s letter and his own in a pocket no one would notice, he headed to his floo. While he couldn’t get directly to where he needed from his own floo, it still connected to the headmaster’s, with strict rules in place.

Thankfully, Albus hadn’t seemed to take much notice when he mentioned having a task to take care of during the holiday season.

Perhaps that should have been his first clue that something was off.

His second was the fact that Dumbledore was waiting for him.

“Headmaster,” he bowed his head as much as his pride could allow. He couldn’t slip up now, even if he knew what the man had done in his negligence. Honestly, he shouldn’t be surprised at it. Dumbledore had missed him and used him as a means to an end, why would Potter be any different? 

The thought settled heavy in his stomach. 

“Good morning, Severus,” Dumbledore greeted cordially, eyes already twinkling insufferably. “Heading out then?”

“Yes,” the Potion’s Master replied, hackles and suspicions raised. When Dumbledore didn’t continue, he reluctantly moved forward.

His voice stopped him in his tracks before he could reach the floo.

“You’ve been visiting Azkaban quite often, Severus.” The good-humoured tone set Severus on edge, but he forced his expression and body to show nothing of how the simple statement sent his heart racing. What did Dumbldeore know? “I’ve had a talk with Dawlish about how often you’ve been visiting one Sirius Black. Care to tell me why this is the case?”

Severus allowed himself to bristle and turn on the headmaster. “Considering you don’t allow me to take my hatred on that blithering idiot Potter, I needed an outlet. The man’s out of his mind and it’s cathartic to yell at him when his godson and Longbottom’s idiocy work me into a rage. I’m not spilling any secrets of yours that you need to worry about.” He felt his shoulders bunch up. How dare the headmaster suggest otherwise. Just because he wasn’t Albus’s perfect puppet, didn’t mean he had loose lips to those he was actually loyal to. Severus shifted his act, pulling upon the fake hatred he held for one Sirius Black. “Besides,” he sneered, “he deserves it.”

_ No he doesn’t.  _

_ He’s innocent. _

_ I need to get him out. _

He shoved the thoughts behind a swirling vortex of blackened anger and hatred when he felt the headmaster’s mind start to probe at his own. “Don’t look in my head,” he snapped.

All at once, Dumbledore was back to playing the part of the loving, old headmaster. “Forgive me, Severus,” he held his hands up in surrender, “I merely wanted to check.”

“That gives you no permission to take a look-”

“You’ve been acting out more often, I have faith that you would never slip into old habits,”  _ old allegiances _ could be heard in between the lines, “but others would not have such faith. I wanted to make sure you were thinking before running into things.”

“I always think,” Severus growled. 

Dumbeldore’s gaze grew frigid for a moment, causing the Potion’s Master to swallow despite himself. “I know you, Severus. You think far too much. Continuing to dwell on the past will do you no good. I trust this will be your last visit with Sirius Black?”

It wasn’t a suggestion.

Severus swallowed again, looking away. “Fine,” he bit out.

All at once, the room was warm and inviting once more, a twinkle in the headmaster’s eye. 

“I wish you a good holiday, Severus.”

“You as well, headmaster.” He forced his voice to maintain its level tone. He could feel his voice crack on the words. Turning his back on Dumbledore, Severus forced his hands to stop shaking. 

Whether it was from rage or fear, he didn’t know.

Padfoot’s head perked up when a familiar scent entered Azkaban. Darting to his feet with excitement, he felt his tail start to wag without his control. It took a long moment before he caught the sourness fermenting the usual smell of potions and ink pots. A sourness he was familiar with as well. 

Fear.

Immediately, he forced himself to switch back onto two legs, Sirius emerging from Padfoot’s safe headspace. He was assaulted by the overwhelming dread of the dementors once more, collapsing against the wall as his strength was seeped away. Dry ice seemed to rattle in his lungs as another cloaked figure passed by, visions of regrets and his mother’s words ringing in his ears. Chapped lips pressed themselves together to try and restrain the maddening cries that threatened to spill loose.

And then it was gone.

A warm halo of light encompassed the area, like water in a desert, and Sirius let out a gasp. Cracking his eyes open, he caught a glance of an auror leading a blank-faced Snape towards him. He bit the inside of his cheek, not caring as his--still mostly transformed--teeth caused a flood of iron to well in his mouth. Snape didn’t look good. He really didn’t look good at all. There was a sallowness to his already skeletal face. The way he kept on glancing warily at the auror like the wizard would attack him at any moment was an even worse sign. 

The auror was shuffled away by some sharp words from Snape--Sirius couldn’t make out the shape or sound of any of them, still mostly dazed from his sudden transformation in the middle of feeding time. 

“Hey, Snape,” Sirius called out softly once he was sure they couldn’t be overheard. He didn’t even try to tease his friend with the way he was holding himself. “What’s up?”

“This will be my last visit.”

Sirius blinked, alarm and shock running through him before fear settled in.

“Wait, what? Why-”

“Dumbledore has strongly implied that I am to stop  _ dwelling on the past _ ,” Snape was spitting mad now, expression cold and angry and splitting apart all in one, “and that I am to no longer visit you.”

“He found out.” Sirius swallowed. This wasn’t good. Not when Dumbledore still thought he was guilty. Not when Dumbledore still pulled the strings like Snape was his puppet.  _ For the Greater Good _ . The man’s words echoed in his mind and made him feel sick. 

Snape nodded, looking drawn.

The prisoner let out a shaky laugh, the sound coming out as more of a bark. “Well, it was nice while it lasted. I suppose I’ll have to learn how to talk to fleas.”

“I am not leaving you here to rot!” Snape snapped.

“Severus, I don’t blame you,” Sirius hurried to say, “It was a long shot anyways. It’s not like you’ve given up. My imprisonment is not your-”

“Don’t call me Severus!” The man nearly shrieked, spitting fire. Around the room wind and magic started to build up like a tidal wave, making Sirius’s jaw snap shut, Snape’s anger becoming a palpable, terrifying thing. “I am getting you out of here. I am not giving up. The world and it’s damned injustice can go rot in hell for all I care. You are going to see your godson if it’s the last thing I do. The Dark Lord couldn’t stop me--Dumbledore and his meddling has no chance.” He shoved his face through the bars to glare at Sirius. “So shut up, you mangy mutt.”

Silence.

The animagus eventually let out a sigh and then a small snort. “I’ll trust you like I always have then, Snape.” He peeked over his friend’s shoulder and chuckled again. “I think you frightened that auror though. Even if your spell prevents him from overhearing us, I think he could tell you were screaming at me. Looks like he’s about to faint.”

His words seemed to calm the Potion’s Master down, Snape taking a deep breath in as his dark eyes lost their fire. “Serves the dunderhead right.”

Sirius laughed hoarsely. “So, what’s my godson been up to now? I want everything you can give me before you have to go.”

A spark in Snape seemed to light as he smirked. “How about I let him tell you myself?”

His jaw dropped, “Wh-What do you-” Sirius’s eyes bugged out as he watched Snape slip a letter through the bars. A child’s scratchy handwriting looped on the outside, saying:

_ For Sirius _ .

“Is this…”

“He knows that you are innocent,” Snape told him, looking older in that moment than he had in years. “I… Don’t be angry with me.”

Sirius frowned at the almost begging in Snape’s voice. “What-”

“Dumbledore put him with Tooney and her husband.”

The animagus’s heart stopped. 

No.

No. 

Not Harry.

He couldn’t have put Harry with  _ them. _

“What did they do?” his voice was sharp. Angry.

Snape flinched, making Sirius force himself to tamp down on what emotions leaked out from his careful control. “I don’t know the extent yet,” the dour man said after a long pause, “but he’s… his actions are familiar in a way that speaks volumes. I did a diagnostic, and there were potions in his system, but I doubt those came from his so called ‘family’,” Snape practically spit the term out, “He’s malnourished and isn’t accustomed to kindness. And jumpy. Very jumpy.”

Sirius’s grip on the bars tightened. “Did Albus know?”

“... I don’t know.”

_ But he knew about us, _ went unsaid.

“He has you looking out for him though, right? He’s okay now?” Sirius asked, swallowing the fear and resignation crawling up into his limbs and chest.

Snape nodded. “I will do my utmost to make sure that Lily’s child is safe. You know that.”

_ I do know that, _ Sirius thought, eyeing his friend and how tightly he held himself.  _ But I wonder if I should be worried about you as well. _

“Regardless,” the man interrupted his thoughts, “I promised I would hand over a letter to you from him, and any others.”

“Others?” The animagus’s head snapped up, “but you won’t be able to-”

Snape glared at him. “Did you truly think I would keep up this pattern of visiting in person? It’s fishy and a spy of my caliber wouldn’t be caught dead using the same plan for so long. The only reason I did was to buy time for my experimenting to be done.” He gestured for Sirius to come closer.

The man did so and earned a punch to the stomach. 

“The guard was getting suspicious,” Snape murmured, passing something into Sirius’s hand as the man moved to cover his vulnerable area.

“You could warn a guy,” Sirius hissed in pain.

“Where’s the fun in that?” The potion’s master’s mouth was quirked up into a smirk. 

Falling back to emphasize that he’d been struck, Sirius pulled his hand away to see a small pouch. “What’s…”

“Undetectable Extension charm with a bit of magic I learned from studying the Vanishing Cabinet in the Come and Go room,” Snape murmured, standing up to his full height. “It should be able to pass letters back and forth if you put it in the left pocket inside it. The other holds some light for you to read them by, potions you should take periodically, and writing supplies so you may reply back. It connects to a box in my own office.”

Sirius looked up at Snape. “You utter bastard of a genius.”

The man smirked, side-eyeing Sirius. “While your lot was off causing trouble and making maps I was applying myself.”

“Oi,” Sirius growled. 

The auror down the hall fidgeted, drawing both of their attention.

All at once, Snape was sallow and worn. “I must go.”

Sirius sighed, already imagining the cold of the dementors setting back in. “I’ll miss seeing your ugly mug.”

Snape glared at him. “You’re one to talk. And don’t treat this like it’s the last time we’ll see each other. I’m still getting you out of here, mutt.”

A bark of laughter escaped him despite the solemn air surrounding him. “I know, I know. I’ll look forward to it.” 

And with that, the potion’s master flared his cloak like the dramatic he was and stalked off, leaving Sirius to deal with the growing chill around him. Finger’s shaking, he opened Harry’s letter and began to read. 


	11. Christmas Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I hope you're all staying safe. 
> 
> Remember to review because your comments really really help me write and I enjoy them very much. 
> 
> Thanks again!

“So wait, they glue metal in your mouth to make your teeth straight?” Draco asked Hermione, looking completely gobsmacked as he tried to understand this ‘orthodontistry’ she was explaining.

The bushy haired girl nodded. “Yeah, but that’s only if your teeth are really, really crooked or malformed. What my parents do is clean teeth, which is less painful most of the time. Unless you have a cavity that is, and then they have to drill a hole to clean it out.”

“Why?”

“So it doesn’t stay there and cause the tooth to rot and fall out. They fill the hole afterwards so it’s stronger.”

Draco wrinkled his nose at the thought, “That sounds horrible. And painful.” Almost as bad as regrowing a bone with skele-grow. 

Hermione shrugged, “They numb your teeth with a…”

She continued to ramble on and on from where she was sitting in the bean bag chair corner. Harry watched the two of them silently, careful to make sure Draco wasn’t up to anything. Admittedly, it was probably silly of him to do so considering this was their fourth meeting within the group and Draco had shown no signs of still being ‘Malfoy’. 

And it was Christmas Eve, so everyone was in higher spirits today. Fred and George had given everyone--save for Ron and Percy--a reprieve from their constant pranking for the holidays as a way to de-escalate the tension that had been there since the attacks had stopped. 

It had been a while since anything had happened and it was putting everyone on edge. Especially Harry. Something would happen soon, and Harry knew it. An attack. The strange voice. Another rogue bludger. Anything. Nothing could stay calm and quiet for long. Good things like that didn’t happen, even at Hogwarts. 

Harry shivered at the thought, pulling last year’s Weasley sweater even tighter against him. Due to his… lock up this summer he’d lost some pounds. The stress of a monster being loose and always being watched had turned down his appetite. It showed with the thin, knobbly joints of his shoulders that almost seemed to jut out through the knitted material. A lack of substance made him prone to getting cold easily, as he had found. Even with Snape’s potions he wasn’t gaining anything that would help. Thus the sweater he wore over two of Dudley’s cast-offs. 

He rubbed his fingers through the blanket someone--probably Fred or George honestly--had draped over him when he’d accidentally nodded off the night before. Hermione, Ron and him had stayed the night along with most of the others--sans Millicent ‘Call me Millie’ Bulstrode and Neville, who’d preferred to stay the night in their own beds. Harry hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but the fire Theo and Blaise had started was so warm and soothing that he’d done it regardless. 

And woken up covered in various blankets to a cooing Luna, who seemed fascinated by him. 

The thought of her large, all-seeing eyes made Harry tense as he looked around to see if she was anywhere nearby. Much to his relief, she had joined in talking with Draco and Hermione. The girl was… scary. Harry didn’t like how she seemed to know everything he didn’t want her to know. It could be nice at times, when he didn’t have to explain himself, but there was always the lack of a barrier between them.

He was just thankful she was willing to practice the Legimen-whatever it was on him so he could learn that trick Snape talked about. He didn’t like the idea of anyone getting into his head. Harry wouldn’t be in control and that terrified him. 

Deep down inside, a small voice wondered if that’s why Snape learned it too. Snape seemed to know about a lot of things Harry didn’t want to ever admit or talk about. A fact that settled heavy in his stomach.

Harry shook the thought away, before once more turning to watch the small group in the corner, who’d started to discuss muggle vs magic healing. Hermione was insisting that magic was better in only some regards and absolutely ludicrous in others, while Malfoy was more reluctant to agree. The blond was just probing her for answers to his own questions at this point, and fueling her rant to do so.

How very Slytherin of him. 

Harry couldn’t help but let a small smile escape at the thought.

It was nice to know Slytherin’s weren’t all bad. That even though he might have ended up in the same house as Voldemort, he wouldn’t just turn evil like everyone else made it seem. 

A sudden thought struck him.

What had Sirius’s house been? Snape hadn’t mentioned anything in particular detail when his godfather had been brought up, but Draco said a lot of the Black’s were in Slytherin or Ravenclaw. Did that mean Sirius was in Slytherin? Was that how Snape had met him? Or what about other members of his family? He knew James and Lily were in Gryffindor, but what about his grandparents? Did he have any aunts and uncles that were magic? What about-

“What’cha thinking about?” a voice caused his thoughts to come to a screeching halt. 

Wren had somehow appeared and taken the seat next to him on the couch. The barrier of blankets around him kept her a fair distance away, which made Harry relax once he realized she wouldn’t be able to touch him easily.

Not that it mattered.

It was just nice to know.

 _Focus,_ he told himself, before responding, “Was everyone in my family a Gryffindor?”

Wren blinked, clearly not having expected that particular question. She hummed, thinking for a long moment, and leaning back in her seat, stretching the robes over her looking pajamas to cover her knees. “I don’t believe so. It depends on how far back you go,” she said after a few minutes of silence. “The Potter’s aren’t like the Malfoy’s or Weasley’s. They aren’t generally sorted into one house down the entire line. I believe your father’s father was a Ravenclaw with two Hufflepuff sisters, and his mother’s grandfather came from a long line of Slytherin house members.” She shrugged. “Then again, that might have just been rumors I picked up on. Family trees don’t usually put sortings into account, just blood status--unless someone was disowned for their sorting.”

“That happens?”

“Yeah,” she nodded, “There was a big stink for a while over one of the Black’s when our parents were in school.”

Harry brightened. “Who?”

“Sirius Black, the murderer.”

“He’s not a murderer,” Harry snapped.

Everyone in the room froze, glancing at Harry. He blushed and looked away, glad when the others followed suit. Conversation around them continued. 

Wren was looking at him closely now, like Luna had that morning. Harry shifted around.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

“Why did you say he wasn’t a murderer?” she asked, eyes glowing with curiosity.

Harry bit his lip and glowered at the ground. The thrum to keep quiet wrapped around his throat like a vice until he remembered to breathe. There was a long beat. Then another. He lowered his voice. “Snape,” he cleared his throat, flushing, “Professor Snape said he was innocent. Wrongly convicted for betraying my parents and being a Death Eater. I believe him.”

“Wrongly convicted?” Wren repeated, expression going blank. 

He nodded.

Her jaw tightened. “Who convicted him?”

“I don’t know,” he shook his head, “just that he’s innocent. Snape didn’t want to tell me anything more.”

Silence.

“Sirius Black… innocent,” Wren murmured, letting out a low whistle “If that was revealed, the Wizengamot would turn into a political nightmare.”

Harry blinked. “It would? Why?”

Wren huffed, rolling her eyes like he’d seen Hermione do when he’d asked a _stupid_ question. “Because, Sirius Black happens to be the only living member of the Ancient and Noble House of Black with a chance of taking the _Headship_.”

Harry stared.

She crossed her arms, seeming to become even more upset. “It means the Wizengamot imprisoned one of the most politically powerful members of their own court in Azkaban, and if he were to be released, there would be _blood_ to pay.”

“Sirius is that important?”

Wren nodded, looking eerily eager. “He’s _powerful_. Very powerful. His family is one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. The seats for the Black Family were given to Lord Malfoy because of his wife being the main line’s cousin. If Black were to take control of his seats again, Malfoy would lose more than half of whatever influence he’s scrounged up over the years. It would be political suicide if he tried otherwise. Bloodline theft is serious business. You’d have Gringotts after you as well as the Wizarding World. Azkaban would be the least of your worries.”

Harry’s stomach rolled. 

“And you’re sure he’s innocent?” Wren pressed, eyes dead serious.

“Ron says Snape doesn’t lie,” he replied.

He hoped that was the case. He hoped and prayed with his entire being that Sirius wasn’t just some made up story. That he was as good of a man as Snape’s actions seemed to say. That there was someone out there that would care for _Harry_ \--not _The-Boy-Who-Lived_. 

That hope meant the world to Harry.

“He doesn’t lie about stuff like this,” Wren murmured. “The professor wouldn’t lie to any of us.”

“Adults always lie,” Harry muttered absently, once again gazing at the fire. 

The girl glanced at him before giving him a sad look when he couldn’t see her. “Yeah. Most adults do. I don’t think Professor Snape counts though. He’s a little over thirty, so he hasn’t reached the level of adulting that leads to them becoming liars.”

Harry blinked, startled. “He seems…”

“Older?” she grinned, “Yeah. He acts like an old man a lot of the time, but he’s younger than my parents. I think it’s because of how sour he is all the time.”

The dark haired boy let out a small laugh, a shy grin on his face. Just as he was about to say something, Harry stiffened, hearing a familiar whisper from the walls. It didn’t seem to say anything in particular, mumbling to itself like it occasionally did. There were no threats of killing. 

Did that mean they were safe? No one had really stayed behind in the castle, everyone wanting to go home instead of stay where it wasn’t safe. So whatever the voice was couldn’t find anyone right?

A pit started to form in his stomach as he swallowed thickly in fear. 

Then he noticed something peculiar.

Wren had gone just as pale.

His mind flashed back to their first meeting. How she’d stood up to defend him to the other Hufflepuffs. How she didn’t even seem to believe any of the rumors. “You can hear it too,” he whispered in realization.

Wren startled, before her expression shut down. “I don't know what you’re talking about.”

“The voice in the walls,” he stated. “You can hear it too. The one that always happens before the atta-”

She covered his mouth with her hand, and looked around the room. Harry panicked at the touch, already fighting to get away when Wren seemed to shrink into herself, withdrawing. She pulled her knees up to her chest and glared at the ground. “Don’t tell anyone.”

“Because hearing voices is bad?” he repeated.

“No,” she shook her head, giving him an incredulous look, “because being a Parselmouth is Dark. Very Dark.”

Harry’s throat went dry, like he’d swallowed sand. “P-Parselmouth?”

Wren’s shoulders hunched. “Look, I got it from my dad. He was able to understand snakes since he was little. We don’t talk about it though. No one knows.”

“You’re… You’re like me?” Harry whispered.

Wren avoided his gaze. 

“So at the dueling club-”

“Ernie’s an idiot. Same with Zachariah,” she mumbled.

Harry’s brain backtracked. “Wait, so you think the voice is a snake?”

Wren shot him an unimpressed glare. “Of course it’s a bloody snake, what did you think it was?”

He swallowed. “I… I thought I was going crazy. Or that it had something to do with possibly being an heir of Slytherin… I thought it meant I was,” he shrunk, “ _guilty_.”

Her eyes softened and she reached out to grab his hand. “You’re not the one causing all the attacks. You’re too nice… and clueless. You wouldn’t know the first thing about controlling a monster that Slytherin would have chosen.”

“Thanks,” he replied dryly, though the appreciation leaked through. Harry sighed, curling further into his pile of blankets. The voice had died away, but still left him shivering. “You think the voice is a snake then?”

She nodded. “I… haven’t brought it up to the others yet, though. Or Professor Snape. I’m,” she let her head rest on her knee, “scared.”

“I didn’t tell him either,” Harry admitted, “about the voice.”

“Do you think we’re making it worse by not saying anything?” she whispered.

Harry shook his head. “It’s not like they can do anything if they know it’s a snake. It just narrows down a list of what it could be, not how to find it. It would only tell them how to kill it.” His small fingers tugged at the fraying edges of his sweater. “Best go to the adults when we have all the answers. They won’t listen until you can explain yourself.” _And even then they might not listen since they ‘know best’_ , he finished his train of thought. That had always been the case in other schools. It had happened last year too with the stone. 

Adults never listened, and even if they did, what could they do about it?

He and Wren shifted around uncomfortably as the silence between them lingered. Clearing his throat--after summoning his Gryffindor courage--Harry asked, “If Sirius is innocent, is there any way to get him out of Azkaban? Do wizards have a court? Or just the Wizengamot?”

The other girl seemed to relax as she started to talk about how Wizengamot trials worked, laying out various laws and family names to go to. Harry struggled to not let the overwhelming tide of information drown him, doing his best to remember each and every detail. This was important. 

He had to figure out the rules to get Sirius out. 

He _had_ to. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my gosh, I can't believe I forgot! 
> 
> I actually made fanart for this chapter and with how crazy my morning and afternoon has been, just barely realized that I didn't post it along with.
> 
> Here's a link to it, but let me know if it doesn't work. Thanks and I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Harry and Wren: https://turtlecommander99.tumblr.com/post/627372195950313472/this-is-some-fanart-from-my-harry-potter


	12. Older Brothers and Trouble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all, I hope you're all healthy and well.
> 
> I'm all moved in now, though grad school just started today and I haven't written in a while thanks to all the craziness of the last few days. So.... sorry if I don't manage a chapter next week. I will try my best, but no guarantees until everything settles down. 
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoy, this one is Fred and George-centric which is pretty fun to write. Leave me comments if you can, it really is the best part of my week to read what you guys think. 
> 
> So yeah... enjoy.

Unbeknownst to Harry, George was grinning softly at the way the small boy was practically drowned in the blankets around him as he and Wren talked politics. Everyone had pitched into the pile, especially with Luna’s mention of ‘Doddledarves’ during the first meeting involving Harry. Doddledarves were  _ never, ever _ a good sign. He nudged Fred next to him and watched as his twin’s own expression softened. 

“He looks like a kitten,” Fred smirked. 

George snorted. “He and Wren seem to be getting along just fine.”

“Good on them.”

As the unofficial big brothers of the whole group, the two of them liked to see one of their younger ‘siblings’ breaking out of their shell. Especially considering the both of them weren’t known for doing so. They’d pegged Harry as soon as they’d seen him for needing a helping hand. If their mother hadn’t noticed him at the train station, they would have stepped in, having spotted him looking hopelessly lost minutes before she did. Good thing their mother--while unapproving and occasionally overbearing--was as much of a mother hen as she was. Now Harry was family, and they didn’t have to work through the loopholes they’d foreseen. 

It was also nice to see Wren crack an actual smile, even if earlier she’d seemed fearful of whatever they were talking about. Honestly, ever since she went silent during her first year, they’d been worried she would never bounce back. They wouldn’t blame her of course--her father had just been murdered after all--but it was still nice to see her usual, shy smile.

“Think we should do something to mess around?” Fred hummed.

They exchanged glances.

“Nah. Let them have their fun,” they both said at the same time. It was Christmas Eve after all. But that didn’t let the others go scott free. 

With a quick, wordless hex Hermione and Draco’s hair started to turn outrageous shades of purples, greens and yellows, earning shouts in their directions. 

Hermione was working herself up to a rant when Neville piped up. “You two mastered it wordless then?”

Fred grinned as he saw the bushy-haired girl’s tirade halt before it could start. “Yep,” he popped the ‘p’.

“Mastered it yesterday,” George preened.

“Took a while-”

“-but we think we’re doing just fine with it now.”

“You can do magic without the incantation?” Hermione gasped, looking at them with renewed interest and forgetting all about her mismatched hair. “How? You clearly don’t pay attention in class considering all the pranks-”

“That’s where-”

“-you’ve got it all-”

“-wrong, ‘Mione,” Fred and George looked practically feral. 

“They’re brilliant,” Neville hurried to explain before she could start huffing. “Even Professor Snape agrees.”

Hermione looked at them. “But they’re… troublemakers?”

George shrugged. “Just because we don’t-”

“-follow the rules doesn’t mean-” Fred continued.

“-we don’t learn,” both twins finished before waving their wands and wordlessly charming Hermione back to her usual self. 

“It takes a lot of magical prowess and know-how to prank to the level they do,” Draco sighed, pouting as he wasn’t changed back. “Out of all of us, they’re probably the best with magic. They’re creative and experiment with magic all the time, so they know all the ins and out that they don’t teach you.”

“You’ve got to bend the rules to learn all the stuff the teachers don’t mention.” Fred hummed, propping his feet up on George’s lap. 

George rolled his eyes. “And it helps that we split up what classes we both take and we teach the other what they talk about in class. We’re learning double the class-load, and if needed, we can switch who goes what day if we find it more interesting.”

“And you use  _ all _ this knowledge you’ve collected to  _ prank people _ !” It was like she was insulted, looking at them aghast and offended like that. 

It made them both snicker. “We all need something to laugh about at some point or another.”

“And we have to be creative with all the teachers on the lookout for us causing trouble.”

“Sometimes we have to do some really obscure research to find a spell the teachers won’t think of the counter-spell too-”

“-or we just do what’s easiest-”

“-Most teachers don’t think to try the easy way first-”

“-it’s rather hilarious to be honest.”

“And they both have really good marks which infuriates Professor McGonnagal,” Neville groaned. “It’s really not fair. They’re absolute geniuses.”

“Oh stop, you’ll make us blush.”

Hermione looked at the twins closely before crossing her arms. “Not all the magic follows the rules then?”

Ron shrugged, able to answer this question. “The rules they put in place are what most people are capable of, not all people. It’s like teaching how to do maths only one way and treating it like it’s the only way of doing the equation.”

She frowned for a long moment, then looked away. “Could you teach me?” Hermione’s words were almost a whisper.

Fred and George exchanged glances as they watched her face flush even darker. 

She opened her mouth to dismiss her request when the two answered.

“If you think you’re up to it. But we have conditions.”

Hermione’s eyes flicked up. “Conditions?”

“Of course. We’re doing you a favor,” Fred pointed out, grinning as he waggled his finger in the air. 

“Alright then,” she crossed her arms even tighter, “what are your  _ ‘conditions’ _ ?”

“You have to listen to what we say-”

“-and join us on pranks.”

Hermione gaped at them. “P-Pranks?”

“Of course,” George’s smile was cat-like with pleasure.

“It’s our best method of teaching-”

“-makes you think outside the box-”

“-which is exactly what you need.”

Hermione hesitated, clearly not trusting their judgement.

“Would we lie?” Fred teased.

“ _ Yes _ ,” everyone stated bluntly, save for Harry and Wren, who were still talking softly over on the other couch. 

“About pranking?” George continued, rolling his eyes at their reaction.

“Fine,” Hermione mumbled, “but only as long as it doesn’t interfere with my schoolwork.”

Ron groaned along with Draco, both likely fearing what would come of Hermione’s stubbornness to prove herself and the chaos masters that George and Fred were. It was going to be a long year. 

“Well then,” Fred grinned, “Miss Granger, we--Gred and-”

“Forge--do gladly take you as our young apprentice.”

They waved their wands to create magic sparks before hopping to their feet and frog-marching her off to the farthest corner of the room--despite Hermione’s protests the entire way.

Draco and Ron watched as Hermione’s eyes seemed to light up as the twins talked, then looked at each other.

Make that an  _ extra _ long rest of the year. 


	13. A Good Spy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry about the long wait. With both my beta and I in college, things are moving slower than I would like. I'll probably have to start posting less frequently, but I'll try my best to give you guys updates as often as I can. Please don't hate me?
> 
> Anyways, hope you guys like the Snape!whump heading your way. Remember to leave kudos and comments if you like this fic, your support always makes me feel well-loved and inspires me to write more. Enjoy!

Severus tried to control his breathing as he gasped in front of the mirror. The stench of sick from the toilet wasn’t helping, but there was nothing he could do about it. Not when his emotions were so…  _ volatile _ . He could feel the magic permeating the air around him as it reacted with the tidal wave of anxiety and anger.

Damn Dumbledore.

Damn his meddling. 

Damn the fact that it kept happening.

Damn him since  _ he couldn’t do anything about it.  _

He dry heaved once more, this time over the sink. Stress made his shoulders ache as they coiled tight and caused his head to throb in time with his rapid heartbeat. 

Sirius was trapped in that magic-forsaken hellhole alone now. All thanks to one bloody Albus-too-many-names-Dumbledore. 

And he was being watched. 

He felt the charm go off the minute he stepped out of the floo, a tag on his magic that let Dumbledore know he had returned.  _ He was tracking him _ . Tracking him like some dog he couldn’t trust. Admittedly, he couldn’t, but Severus had never liked being watched. He was never one to be hunted. He was a spy--the moment eyes were on him he had to vanish or it could mean his death. 

Severus ran a hand down his face, wiping away sweat--and tears though he would never admit it--to try and center himself. Tugging the magical wall of energy leaking, he pulled it back inside. Each breath was measured as he closed his eyes and slipped into his mindspace where he could work to organize the emotions plaguing him. They were meaningless. A spy didn’t need emotions. Just information. He had to think, not let his heart run wild.

He had to focus on the mission.

What was the mission though?

A small chime went off on the clock near his bed. It wasn’t that absurd drivel like Molly Weasley had to spy on her brood, but one specifically tailored to help him remember what appointments he had. A gift from Minerva when he’d first started teaching. He’d gotten so used to being nothing more than the potion master spy he’d lost track of the time he spent in his potions lab and had often forgotten about a class he was supposed to teach. It seemed the only thing he was able to keep on top of was all the lies he sent both ways. The clock itself was connected to a journal of his own keeping that he kept in his breast pocket at all times--just in case.

This time, it was a reminder of a certain Christmas party that awaited him in the Come-and-Go Room. 

Right.

The children.

His mission was to protect the children. 

Severus inhaled sharply at the new prerogative. 

He could do nothing at the moment with his mission to save Sirius, but he could do this. Standing up to his full height, Severus ordered his hair with little fanfare and did a quick  _ scourgify _ of his robes to rid himself of any remaining sign of his earlier… moment. 

It was not a break down.

Spys didn’t break down.

He was too smart to break down in a place as vulnerable as Hogwarts.

When had Hogwarts become unsafe-?

He shook the thought away and stalked out into the hallway.

Children. 

He had to focus on the children. 

The empty common room was a welcome sight, as were the barren hallways. Even though there hadn’t been an attack for weeks, people were still cautious. Good. It would keep them alive. As it was, Snape’s wand hand was at the ready and a list of defensive positions was quickly surmised from his surroundings. 

It also helped him recognize yet another charm set by the headmaster. A monitoring one. 

_ Let the old codger know I’m upset with him, _ he huffed internally, silently disabling it with a flick of his wrist.  _ He deserves no less. _

It would be worth the ‘I’m only looking out for you Severus’ meeting he’d have to sit through later.

Probably. 

Either way, the headmaster didn’t deserve to know where Severus was going or what he was up to. Not after earlier today. 

The Potions Master quickly pushed the thought back behind his shields before his magic could go restless once more. He didn’t need to exhaust himself with such tomfoolery. It was childish to lose control over something so basic. 

Perhaps that was something he could teach to the children once they’d all done well with their Occlumency. Lovegood said Granger was moving along quite nicely with her attempts, as well as something about her mind already being rather overwhelming for most Legimens. Then again, that was at least what he interpreted from her rambling about crumple-horned snorkacks and nargles. Honestly, he needed to find a better way to understand her. 

He pinched his brow. A project for another day. 

The fourth floor eventually gave way to the fifth and then sixth before he was standing near the familiar tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. It seemed the group was eagerly waiting for him, as the door appeared as soon as he reached the wall instead of him having to walk back and forth to activate it. Giving a soft sigh, and preparing himself for the chaos he would inevitably find, he walked in.

His eyes narrowed instantly on the way the twins had pulled Granger and Zabini into a discussion. He’d have to do damage control to make sure nothing went too… extreme in the next couple of days. Especially with Granger in the mix. Bulstrode was talking amiably with Ronald, Nott, and Malfoy--most likely about the latest gossip, as all four were rather interested in the rumor mill that she had free access to from her dorm-mate, Parkinson. Which left Longbottom, Lovegood, Selwyn, and Potter on an extraordinary pile of blankets and pillows that had clearly been pulled off the couch and into a pillow fort. Longbottom, it seemed, was working ahead on his Herbology essay and helping the others with theirs, a small plate of crackers and cheese likely provided by the Hogwarts elves present at their sides--and, to his great pleasure, a bowl of peanut butter and vegetables that Potter was absently snacking from.

Good. 

Black wouldn’t be upset about Potter starving himself.

Which meant Severus didn’t have to. 

His arrival was instantly noted by Lovegood, who gave him a breezy wave before returning to her schoolwork, but not before her mind brushed against his own. 

_ Rough Christmas. Too many nargles. _

She didn’t explain who she was talking about. He had a feeling it was a broad statement though.

Bother.

Severus downplayed a hitched groan, the sound grabbing the attention of Zabini who then signalled to the others that their ‘favorite’ professor had arrived.

“Hello, Professor Snape!” they all greeted in more or less the same excited manner. 

Potter’s head snapped up to look towards Severus, almost pleading.

Giving in, the man dipped his head towards him with a knowing look.

_ Your mutt got the message. _

Potter cracked a small, miniscule smile of relief that made Severus loosen.

At least he hadn’t failed everyone.

“Come on, Professor, are you up for a game of chess?” Ronald begged from his area. 

Letting out a loud, put-upon sigh, Severus trudged over. A game of chess sounded like an excellent way to clear his mind. Ronald was a worthy opponent, and had been doing well enough on the assignments Severus gave him in private. He had earned this treat. “Very well, Mister Weasley. Get your board out.”

Ronald lit up with excitement, a toothy grin spreading across his face as he tripped over himself to grab his wizard’s chess set out. Always eager to prove himself, Severus chuckled.

He would have made an excellent snake.

All of his children would. 

Severus pointedly ignored the term of endearment that had slipped through, earning a giggle from Lovegood.

He sent her a sharp glare, but there was little heat in it. While he did not appreciate his thoughts being privy to others… he did not mind Lovegood’s peeking. Not as much as Dumbledore’s or the Dark Lord’s. She was gentle and he knew he could trust her.

Severus blinked.

He  _ trusted _ a first year.

Grimacing and disguising it as displeasure over the game between him and Ronald, he put the thought away once more.

He would think about it later.

Or never.

Never was fine with him.


	14. Quirrell Did What?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Still working to balance grad school with writing, and it's slowing me down, along with my Beta. But here's a chapter for your patience. 
> 
> It's more or less a filler chapter though, so apologies ahead of time.
> 
> Comment and leave kudos. It's always lovely to see what you guys think and helps me with my writing like no other!

“Potter,” Snape barked from where he was marking essays, causing Harry to almost drop an extra chunk of gurdyroot in his potion, “stay after class.”

He nodded silently, making sure to keep his expression blank as some of the Slytherins around him snickered. Hands shaking, he relaxed as Ron bumped their elbows together in reassurance. It was probably just something secret Snape wanted to talk to him about. He wasn’t in trouble anymore. 

The holidays the previous week had been… nice, for lack of a better word. It had been the most relaxed Harry had felt in his entire life as their new group of friends had hidden themselves away in the Room of Requirement until the night before other students were to arrive. Even Snape had been significantly softer with his words. The teacher had taken the time to take Harry aside and let him know that Sirius was in good health and that he had found a way to pass letters into Azkaban. 

It had been hilarious when Snape had become nearly petrified as Harry had hugged him before thinking better of it. The memory was a fond one--it even had Harry’s expression soften in the terrible strain that was Potions. Now that he knew he wasn’t being targeted in class by the teacher, his grades were steadily raising as well. This made Hermione happy, which was nice. She hadn’t put as much effort into bullying him into studying since he was doing better on his own, and now that she had been taken under Fred and George’s wing.

Harry hid a snicker at that, glancing over to where Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy were still covered in fluorescent spots that changed color with every passing second like chicken pox gone wrong. Hermione had heard Pansy say something about Millie the first day of term--whatever it was leaving the bullish girl in tears--and had come up with the idea herself. Fred had stated how proud he was as he proclaimed it to the rest of the group when they’d met up later in a spare classroom. Millie had given Hermione a warm, crushing hug that had caused the bushy haired girl to state that she didn’t like bullies and that Pansy deserved it. It had made Millie cry again, but they were good tears.

It was strange, now that Harry thought of it, stirring the potion in front of him counter-clockwise--pleased when it turned almost the correct shade of blue. Despite the erratic whispers in hallways, everyone still eyeing him like he would turn on them in any second, and the cries for murder from the walls, this had to be the best couple of months he’d ever had. 

“Better turn that in before you over-stir it,” Ron whispered to him, drawing Harry out of his own head. The dark haired boy flushed. He’d been getting caught up in his thoughts a lot--though Luna said it was because of their Occlumency lessons forcing him to ‘consider the nargle nests between his ears’. He wasn’t sure if he liked it, but it wasn’t like he could do anything about it. 

Ron and Hermione didn’t seem to mind, so it must be alright. 

He stoppered a small vial of the potion, making his way to the front of the class along with some of the other stragglers who were just finishing the potion. Snape looked at everyone else’s vial before his, putting on an easy air of disdain that earlier would have fooled Harry if he hadn’t seen Snape reluctantly letting Luna give him an absurd necklace filled with bottle caps. He knew the professor still wore it under his robes, able to make out the bumps and ridges of it. Snape had been strangely soft around them, even for him according to Draco. 

Harry glanced up at Snape, trying to figure it out himself when the potion’s master caught his eyes and sneered, snatching the vial from Harry’s hands. “Passable, Potter,” he spit out like it pained him to admit. 

All a show.

It was like the whole world was turned upside down for Harry now that he knew that this man, a man who belittled him in class and used to make him feel small, was on his side. 

Harry wasn’t sure the last time an adult was on his side.

He oddly didn’t think Hagrid could count, despite how much Hagrid clearly cared about him. Hagrid acted more like an older brother--like the Weasley twins--than an ‘adult’. Especially given the events with Norbert the previous year. No, Hagrid wasn’t an adult. He was a kid like Harry.

Harry hadn’t visited him in a while, perhaps he, Ron and Hermione could-

“Potter, stop standing there like a dunderhead,” Snape snapped, the world blinking back into focus around Harry.

He’d been so lost in his thoughts that he hadn’t even noticed the classroom around him fall silent as the last student crept out. 

“Sorry, Professor,” Harry swallowed nervously.

“Lost in your thoughts?” Snape grunted, sitting down behind the desk with a dramatic slump as he ran a hand through his tied back hair. Harry frowned. The professor looked ill.

“Yes, sir,” Harry managed before he walked a few steps closer, “Are you alright?”

Snape sent a spine-breaking scowl his way, though it lessened when Harry couldn’t stop the flinch at the anger in it. “I’m fine, Potter,” he growled, sitting up like whatever weakness Harry had spotted didn’t exist. 

The boy swallowed again and changed the subject. “You wanted to talk to me, sir?”

“I have a letter from your mutt,” Snape pulled out a grimy piece of paper, the handwriting Harry could spot between his long fingers spotty and shaky.

“My mutt?” Harry frowned before his eyes lit up in understanding. “You mean-”

“While you and your godfather like to think me an owl, I am not,” Snape grumbled, placing it in Harry’s hands. He watched with dark eyes as Harry cradled it like it was something precious. “If I am to be saddled with this duty, then you will abide by my schedule. If you wish to send a response, you will hand me your letter in private by five o’clock tomorrow night. No later. When and if he responds to them, you will collect them from me after class. I will signal that I have a letter by bringing this quill,” the man revealed a hawk-feather quill from his desk, “and using it to grade papers. When it comes time to return essays, I will have it slipped between yours or your friends’ rolls, so warn them. And turn in your essays on time. Do you understand me?”

Harry’s brow furrowed, “But why-”

“We are being watched, Mr. Potter,” Snape snapped, “and your godfather happens to be part of a game much bigger than you can see. Miss Selwyn has spoken of politics in your presence, has she not? There is a political storm on the horizon where your mutt is concerned and I will not have the Headmaster, nor anyone else get suspicious of my actions.”

The boy’s jaw clenched as he held Sirius’s letter close. “We can’t trust Dumbledore at all, can we?” Wren had spoken darkly of the headmaster of Hogwarts whenever he was mentioned. And the others seemed wary of him. He’d held out hope but...

Snape sighed, and ran a hand over his face. “Potter, listen well.” His cold, black eyes met Harry’s vibrant green for less than two seconds before it seemed to pain him. “I will not say you cannot trust Dumbledore, nor will I tell you to treat him with the same disdain as some of those within the group. However, you must realize that Dumbledore will do whatever it takes for ‘the greater good’.”

Harry blinked. “The greater good?”

The professor gave him a wry almost-smile. “It is his political slogan, in a fashion. The Headmaster is a politician and general first, Mr. Potter, and a headmaster to this school second. Do you remember Professor Quirrel?”

Harry flinched as the smell of burning flesh and the man’s pained screams immediately swallowed him back to the space in front of the Mirror. He couldn’t breathe. He was in so much pain. He-

Wait.

That wasn’t now.

He wasn’t there.

He was with Snape.

Harry came back to himself, blinking once again.

He could feel Snape’s hands on his shoulders before he could make out the man and the spinning classroom behind him. There were low words being whispered in his ear that he couldn’t quite understand. It was nothing like the hissing from the walls that promised death and pain for others. Harry blinked again. And then again. Then, he remembered to breathe. 

“Are you back with me, Harry?” Snape asked where he was crouching in front of the boy.

Harry nodded. “Sorry, professor,” his voice came out hoarse. He hadn’t screamed, had he?  _ Focus, Harry. _ What was the question again? Oh, right. “Yes, I remember P- Professor Quirrel.”

“Mind telling me what sort of reaction that was, Mr. Potter?” Snape asked instead.

His face went blank as he stared at the professor. He didn’t want to talk about it. 

“Potter-”

He felt a gentle, concerned probe in his mind which made him panic. Before he could think, he had shut whatever it was out of his head, an ache settling at the back of his mind like a throbbing headache. “You tried to look,” he whispered, cold anger bubbling up in his chest. “That was you in my head.”

“Mr. Potter-”

“No!” Harry snapped, glaring at the professor. “You have no right to go and look into my head. You’re no better than Dumbledore.”

Snape’s scowl fell into place as he roughly grabbed Harry by the arm. The boy balked and tried to fight the grip, but Snape was too big, too tall. Snape grabbed his other arm, and forced Harry to face him, even if he wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Listen here, Potter. I looked, because you started panicking after I mentioned a  _ teacher. _ Do you know what kind of matters that would suggest?” 

“What-”

“Potter, outside of trying to steal the stone, what did Quirrell do?” Snape asked, eyes narrowed. 

“Nothing,” Harry denied without thinking, wincing as Snape’s touch became more rigid, some of the man’s long fingers digging into his shoulders.

“Potter,” he huffed, “since you clearly don’t understand, let me give you a situation in which your dunderheaded brain might comprehend. If Miss Granger started to panic when talking about Professor Quirrell, an already known thief and likely  _ criminal _ what would you do?”

Harry’s brow furrowed, even as he moved to reply, “I would ask her-”

“What happened, yes? You would want to make sure she’s safe?”

“Yes, but-”

“Then let me ask again, what did Professor Quirrell do?”

Harry’s eyes darkened, growing haunted as he avoided Snape’s gaze. “Why does it matter? He’s dead now.”

“Because, even if you are all annoying, I care about my students enough to make sure they are safe and do not have any lasting damage to their person,” the professor snapped, though there was little heat to it. 

“But he didn’t hurt me,” Harry stated, “Well, I guess he did, but that was more Voldemort than-”

Snape hissed in pain, one hand moving towards his arm, “Don’t say the name.”

Cowed, the dark haired boy looked at the ground, “Sorry, Professor, I- I forgot that-”

“What does the Dark Lord have to do with Quirrell,” he interrupted, not wanting to be bothered by 

Harry blinked, looking up at Snape. “You don’t know?”

“I don’t know what, Potter?”

“Professor Dumbledore said-”

“Well, we all know how reliable that old coot is,” Snape growled, eyes boring into Potter’s skull. “Now stop avoiding the question and-”

“Vol-  _ He _ was living on the back of Professor Quirrell’s head.”

“ _ What? _ ”


	15. Letters to Harry (Not a No One Anymore)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for being so patient for me! TAing has become my life and I have two term papers that I'm working through on top of that. It doesn't help that my anxiety has made itself known once again along with depressive episodes that leave me wiped for days at a time. It's been so chaotic and I felt so bad for writing so slowly, but I wanted to make sure you guys get quality writing. As such, updates are likely to be infrequent. I am so sorry about that, but I'll do my best to pick up the pace when I am able to keep my head above water better. 
> 
> Remember to leave comments if you can (I have been reading them on weeks when it's hard to do much and it really helps knowing you guys are enjoying the story so far) and let me know what you think!
> 
> Without further ado, here is your chapter!

Severus slammed the door open to Minerva’s study, startling the professor into almost dropping her quill. Hand over her heart, she turned to admonish him, “Merlin, Severus, you frighten-”

“Did you know?” he hissed, eyes narrowed.

Unnerved, Minerva shook her head. “Severus, what are you-”

“Did you know that Albus let the Dark Lord into the castle for some idiotic trap?” Severus snapped, slamming his hands down on the table with a loud thud. 

Minerva opened and closed her mouth, processing his words for a long minute before turning just as stoney as he was. “He _what_?”

“You didn’t know,” Severus huffed, almost relieved at the anger in her voice. She was innocent. She didn’t know anything about it. He could still trust her. Well… as much as he trusted anyone at least. 

“Severus Tobias Snape, what the bloody hell is going on?” Minerva growled, standing up from her desk to center him with a narrowed look.

“I just had a conversation with one Mr. Potter,” Severus spat back, not appreciating the tone in her voice. She _wasn’t_ in charge of him. She didn’t get to speak to him like that. No matter how much he respected her. “Who mentioned just how Quirrell died last year. Specifically by playing host to a parasitic version of the Dark Lord that hid _in the man’s turban_.”

Minerva went white before cursing the air blue with a series of Scottish cuss words. Flicking her wand, a bottle of firewhisky flew to her desk. She gestured for Severus to take a seat. “You will tell me _everything,_ ” she demanded, sitting with a fierce air that had him following her example--the fight in his bones fleeing. “Starting with why you thought I would know and why He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named is alive.” She transfigured some candlesticks into shot glasses, “But first, I’m too sober for this conversation,” Minerva grumbled. She then threw back a few before Severus’s eyes.

He eyed the offered shot glass that she’d left for him and quickly swallowed down the burning liquid. 

***

Harry jerked the curtains shut around his bed as soon as he was back in the dormitory, ignoring Neville and Ron’s queries about whether he was alright enough. He wasn’t alright. He was the farthest thing from alright. 

He was terrified.

His heart was racing. He could still hear and see the anger that Snape had displayed as he’d told him about Quirrell. He could still feel his hands shaking and his breath hitching in his chest. He could still taste the bile in his throat from when he’d gagged thinking back to the night he’d taken his first life, even if it was by accident.

Harry buried himself under the covers of his bed and curled into a ball. He couldn’t hear Ron or Neville anymore--maybe they’d left him alone for once. He didn’t think he would be able to stand any attention at the moment. He was too fragile right now. He didn’t want them to see the cracks. Harry choked on a cough as his lungs wheezed, tears falling along his cheeks. One of his hands moved to clutch at his robes, causing the letter inside of them to crinkle.

Harry froze.

The letter.

He quickly shoved the covers off of him and sat up, brushing the tears away roughly as the paper landed in front of him. 

He had a letter.

A letter from someone who might care about him. 

The burning ache in his heart was stronger than the one he’d felt all summer when his friends had never written. His eyes and cheeks were hot with _something_ he could never hope to identify as he looked down at the scraggly letters that spelled his name. _His name._ His godfather knew his name--something he wasn’t even certain the Dursley’s knew since he’d heard them use it maybe twice in his entire life. He’d gone to primary school thinking his name was _Boy_. 

But no.

The letter said: _To Harry_.

He choked back a soft noise, running his fingers over the surface of the letters. He wasn’t a child--he never really had been--but he felt like one now. He felt… small.

With hesitant fingers, Harry unfolded the parchment, not minding the grime and dirt on the edges, nor the way the words inside were clearly spelled out with a shaky hand.

He read.

_Harry,_

_I don’t know what you’ve heard. Merlin, I don’t even know what you know about me, your parents, Moony, or even Snape. The old bat says you’re safe and one of his now (I suppose you’re not truly one of his since you’re not in Slytherin, but it’s close enough if he’s claimed you)._

_Pup, I’m so sorry for everything. It was my fault your parents died, and I hope you can forgive me for that some day. I didn’t know Peter was the Secret Keeper, I swear it, but I was the one who suggested the switch. Hopefully that rat is dead, but if he’s not, keep a wary look out for strange animals--Snape will know what I mean._

_But enough about bad blood and memories. I’ve heard you’re a Seeker--gave Snape a heart-attack too. Good on you! Did you know your dad was a chaser? He would have loved to see you play. I got you a broom for your first birthday. You loved that thing. Scared your mother’s cat to pieces, but you would chase after it, so I can’t blame him. Your dad thought it was hilarious, and so did Lily._

_You know they both loved you right? They loved you more than anything and wanted to give you the world. We all did. You were the moon and stars for all of us. I would do anything in my power to give your parents back to you._ _I’m so sorry. It’s my- It’s all my fault-_

_I hope you’re doing well in school, and staying out of trouble. Snape told me all about your first year, and how this year started. Did you truly crash into the willow? We had so much fun with that thing back in our school years--at least until Moony ruined our fun. He was always such a stickler. You should write to him. Snape hasn’t figured out where he’s holed himself away, but if you write maybe he’ll respond. He loves you so much--could never deny you anything, even when it came to his bloody chocolates. I don’t know what he’s been up to--but please forgive him, and let him know that James and Lily would have forgiven him too. It wasn’t his fault._

_This is supposed to be about you. Sorry about that. Guess Azkaban’s messed with me a little more than I thought. What’s school like? I heard you have some good friends. What are they like? What do you think of classes? Are you having any difficulty in subjects? I’m no Moony, but I was decent in school, maybe I can help if you’re struggling? Though I doubt it. Your dad and mum were brilliant. I’m sure you have their brains._

_I have to stop now, I think the dementors are doing their rounds soon._

_I love you so much, pup._ _If-_ _When I get out, I’m giving you the biggest hug._

 _Unless you don’t want it._ _I would understand if you didn’t._

_Love you, pup._

_Padfoot (School nickname if Snape hasn’t mentioned it)_

_P.S. Keep out of trouble, I don’t want that monster making you its next meal, alright?_

Harry sat back, tears streaming down his face with fervor as he read and re-read the words over and over again. 

Sirius hadn’t even met him and he cared.

He’d asked him if he needed help with school!

Was this what it was like to have a family?

Harry shook the thought away, scraping at his face again to wipe away the tears. 

There was a knock on the poster of the bed, before Ron’s muffled voice quietly piped through, “Harry? Is everything okay?”

The black haired boy froze.

“It’s okay if you need some space, mate, but I-” Ron was quiet for a while. “You seem really upset.”

“I’m okay,” Harry winced as his voice cracked.

“... bloody hell,” Ron muttered, before the curtains around Harry’s bed were thrown back to let him in. He squawked as the red-head climbed onto the bed and curled around Harry’s thin, shaking frame. “Don’t lie to me, Harry.”

Harry froze at first, just like he did whenever someone pulled him into a hug. Then the tears started to pour all over again. He shook silently, hating himself for the moment of weakness. Ron didn’t need to see this. No one did. It was just a stupid hug. He shouldn’t be-

“It’s okay, Harry. Trust me, I’ve cried enough times in front of Fred and George to know that it feels better no matter how embarrassing it is,” Ron whispered, tucking Harry closer.

“I- I-”

“Breathe.” 

Harry gasped into his friend’s shirt, burying his head into Ron’s shoulder. The other boy didn’t say anything, just pulled the covers over Harry and let him hide away for a while, until the tears ran out. Numbly, Harry rubbed at his face and broke away from the overwhelming contact. 

“Better?” Ron asked with a soft smile.

Harry nodded.

“Er, do you want to talk about it?”

He shook his head, before hesitating. Covering his face with his arm, he flopped back. “I have a godfather.”

Ron perked up. “You do? Then why are you living with the-”

“Because he’s in Azkaban.”

Silence.

“Bloody hell, the fates hate you.”

Harry let out a bitter laugh. “I know.”

“Why- I mean, what did he do?”

“Nothing. Snape says he- He says Sirius is innocent-”

“Sirius Black?” Ron choked, eyes wide. “The mass murderer?”

“Innocent, Ron,” Harry mumbled, glaring at him.

The redhead gave him a sheepish smile. “Er, right. Sorry about that. The stories about him are just… something else.”

“Well they aren’t true,” Harry snapped, before the heat left him. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine, Harry,” Ron assured him, knocking their elbows together in an awkward fashion given the position they were in. “So… he didn’t do it?”

Harry shook his head. “Snape says he’s innocent, and Wren said to trust him. She was practically delighted when we spoke about it. Something about shattering the basis of the Wizengamot in one blow.”

“That’s what you two were discussing at Christmas? Politics?” Ron’s face twisted up like he’d eaten something particularly nasty. “Bloody hell, mate, that’s awful. What would you do that for?”

Harry’s expression turned pensive. “I- I was wondering how… I could help get him out.”

Silence.

“What did Wren say?”

“Nothing much, but I think she’s looking into it. Snape too. And you said we can trust him, and I trust your judgement, Ron.”

The redhead practically flushed at the praise, before shuffling them both into a more relaxed position. “So… what made you cry?”

Harry stared at him for a long moment before the flummoxed look on Ron’s face became too much and he busted out laughing. It turned a little hysterical as time went on, the fragileness from before resurging all at once as he shook his head. “I- I think I was crying because I was happy,” he laughed sharply, tugging at the sleeves of his robes, “How strange is that?”

“I mean, I would cry if the Chudley Cannons won this year but-”

The two of them broke out into giggles at the thought. Even Ron held little hope that the Cannons would indeed make their mark, despite what he liked to rant about to Seamus and Thomas. Once the gasps for breath tapered off, Harry whispered out a small, “Sirius- Snape made him send me a letter. He- He said he loved me. And that my parents would be proud.”

Ron was silent for the longest he’d been, when he squeezed Harry tighter. “I reckon they would be. You’ve done a lot--not even including all the Boy-Who-Lived donkey-spit that the Prophet and weirdos out there talk about. If my parents can be proud of a son like me, then I know yours would be proud of you. It’d be impossible not to.”

Harry frowned, but didn’t comment. Ron was amazing, even if he didn’t know it. But he never listened when Hermione or Harry told him so. Best leave it for a day when he wasn’t feeling… drained dry. “Thanks, Ron.”

“What are friends for?” He nudged him again, a playful smile on his face. “Now, tell me about the letter, mate.”

Emboldened, Harry grinned and started to talk.

***

He sent two letters out the very next day, one to his godfather and another to “Moony” and avidly waited for a response.


	16. Whispers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all!
> 
> My beta (who finally has an account here on AO3! Check her out as TempestHunter) was able to get some editing done this morning, so here's a chapter for you all. Fair warning now, the story is about to get angsty for a little while. Anyways, remember to leave comments--I can't tell you guys how much that helps me with writing. 
> 
> I hope you are all hale and whole and that you will have a wonderful Thanksgiving this holiday season.
> 
> That being said, enjoy!

The halls of Hogwarts buzzed with rumors as Wren walked through them, expression stony. 

_ “Did you hear?” _

_ “He can’t be the Heir.” _

_ “Their own friend.” _

_ “And the poor prefect too.” _

Wren glared at everyone who spoke in whispers. They had no right to say anything--especially after everything they put Harry through. Her hands turned into clenched fists that she hid in her robes as she passed through the hallways on her way to class. The teachers did nothing to stop the rumors, save for Snape. They let them run rampant, all too busy marching them about to try and prevent anymore attacks. The fact that no one was safe--not even purebloods--kept everyone locked up in their dorms at every free moment. 

The castle had become stifling.

A prison.

Not even the prospect of potions class could lighten her mood. 

Wren shuddered and shook with rage as she heard Ernie whisper to Susan about how it ‘surely had to be Malfoy’. She bit her cheek, watching Professor Snape carefully as he scowled forward with stalwart attention, wand at the ready. He looked exhausted--all the teachers did. No one had a moment to rest. Not even their group of friends… not that it would feel the same without Hermione anymore.

Fred and George had lost their spark.

Ginny hadn’t spoken to anyone recently, not even Luna, which had caused the Ravenclaw to withdraw into herself.

The Slytherins in their group had their hands full, having been all but exiled. Walking within the halls haunted by Slytherin’s Monster had become terrifying for them once the whole school had turned on them. The moment it had become clear that Harry couldn’t have been the perpetrator, Slytherins were once again persona no grata. Wren  _ hated  _ it.

But Harry and Ron had been hit worst of all. 

She’d caught sight of Harry the other day--how much thinner he’d grown ever since Hermione had ended up in the hospital wing. He hadn’t even given her the usual fake smile of reassurance that he’d tried during the weeks before when they could both hear the occasional whispers of the monster within the walls of the school. He just stared forward with blank eyes, Ron sitting next to him and not doing much better. 

She hadn’t been able to speak with anyone from their small group--not even Snape due to the fact that all teachers were on high alert and taking on not only hall duty, but also nightly watches.

Wren felt more alone than she had the morning after her father was murdered and she was told by her mother that she couldn’t tell anyone. 

_ And Ernie Macmillan wouldn’t shut his trap. _

“It has to be Malfoy, don’t you see? His father would be ecstatic--you know what my dad always says about the Malfoys. You can’t trust any of those slimy ba-”

Wren lunged at him fists flying as she tossed her wand to the side. The other boy squeaked in fear as the girl landed on top of him, his nose cracking with a loud, painful noise as her knuckles were sprayed with blood. She didn’t even care as the students around them all started to cry out in panic, grabbing the attention of everyone nearby.

_ How dare he? _

_ He had no right to talk like that about her best friend! _

_ The nerve of him after every piece of filth that had come out of his mouth with Harry- _

Pale, long fingers jerked her away from Ernie, who was lying on the ground, gasping and crying for pain as blood leaked down his face like a faucet. Wren kicked and screamed, blood still baying for a fight before a silky voice whispered in her ear, “ _ Enough _ , Wren.”

The fight sapped out of her as she sneakily curled into Professor Snape’s hold, the man growling at her for explanations as to why she’d attacked another student. To anyone else it would look like she was shivering and shaking as Snape dressed her down, but she knew the professor would see the aching hurt and anger in her eyes as she glared at Ernie. 

“Bloody hell, what was that for?” Zachariah Smith spat at her, helping his friend up. 

In return, she spit at his feet, earning a cuff on the head from Snape. “That is  _ enough _ , I said!” the man snapped. “Mr. Smith, take Mr. Macmillan to the infirmary to get his nose looked at. “Mr. Truman will escort you,” he instructed, waving for the nearby prefect as the two went on their way. “As for you,” Snape glared down at Wren, who was stalwartly avoiding his eyes, “You will be serving detention with me. Tonight. Six o’clock, sharp. Do not make me wait.”

Wren jerked her arm away from the professor and nodded, glaring at the ground and earning some more gasps at the sign of disrespect. Snape sneered, before snapping at everyone to get moving. They had a class to attend after all.

No one partnered with Wren.

***

Wren glared at nothing as she was escorted to the Dungeons by a tense prefect that she couldn’t be bothered to deal with. Everyone in her house had treated her as a  _ persona no grata _ ever since Ernie came back to the common room and spilled the news. She’d been stared at with no small amount of fear, like she would crack again and lash out. Not that they were wrong. She could feel the fire and hurt boiling under her skin, waiting to be let out at one wrong move, but it never came. So, instead, she had stormed up to her bed and closed the curtains before getting to work on homework. She had a feeling she wouldn’t have time to do school work in her detention with Snape. Not when she remembered the frustration in his eyes. 

She hadn’t even come out for the dinner that was served in the common room.

“We’re here,” the prefect announced.

They knocked on Snape’s door, earning a chilling, “Enter”, from inside. Wren shuffled her feet as she entered the classroom, eyes still trailing the ground as she made her ways towards Snape’s desk. If she had been looking up, she would have noted how Snape watched her with keen eyes and a sour face. “You are dismissed,” the man told the prefect, who eagerly scurried away down the hall. Snape looked upset, and they didn’t want to mess with him. 

Wren stood there in silence for over ten minutes, not moving an inch even as she heard the professor’s quill scrape and scratch against various pieces of parchment in front of him. Her patience paid off as the man sighed, pinching his hooked nose as he finally turned his attention towards her once more. 

“Would you mind explaining to me what shred of sanity convinced you to decide and attack Mr. Macmillan? I know you’re intelligent Wren. That silly mask of yours that you wear around the school does not fool me--I’m the one who helped you craft it. So tell me,” Snape’s voice never wavered, nor rose as the anger in it grew with every passing word, “ _ why? _ ”

Wren’s fists were clenched at her sides as she tried to rule her temper. She’d inherited it from her father. It had run away from her as a child, getting her into more trouble than she or her mother very well liked. It was the reason she’d chosen the mask of an idiotic girl who didn’t know any of the implications of her actions on the political scale. It was the one thing that burned in the back of her mind every time she had to face her  _ dear  _ Uncle Silas and smile at him knowing that he was a murderer and a coward. 

“I asked  _ why _ ?” Snape snapped.

She wouldn’t give Snape what he wanted. 

She wouldn’t lose her temper--no matter how much she was tempted to, and no matter how much she trusted the man. 

“Because,” she gritted her teeth, “he was talking about things he should clearly know aren’t his to talk about.” 

“Oh, and that gives you every right to attack a student when us teachers already have enough on our hands? You’re more clever than that. Try again.”

_ Don’t snap. Don’t snap. Don’t snap. _

“Macmillan should mind his own tongue.”

“Again.”

“He was-”

“ _ Again _ .”

“It was his faul-”

“Again.”

Something inside of Wren snapped despite her best efforts as her temper flared to life, a boiling pit of anger welling up to the front of her mind. “I just wanted him to shut up!” she cried out, hot tears stinging her cheeks as she yelled at Snape. “He’s always so quick to blame other people for problems when he doesn’t have information. He thought Harry was the Heir and now that ‘Mione is gone, he’s turned around and started spitting out that he always knew it was Draco but he doesn’t! Draco’s not like that and if anyone knew bloody anything about him they would realize that he’s the last person who would want to attack anyone,” she started to choke on her words, her thoughts spilling out, “And we’re the only bloody people who know about this and I hate it! I HATE EVERYONE IN THIS BLOODY SCHOOL-”

“Wren, calm yourself-”

“And- And I don’t care if anyone else gets hurt or dies!” she spat out, magic flaring out around her, “They can all rot for all I care! They’re so quick to assume that any Parselmouth or Slytherin is a bloody murderer, so they can go on ahead while an actual murderer roams free because no one can get their own heads out of their a-”

“Wren, that is enough.” Firm hands pressed down on her shoulders, startling Wren out of her furious crying. The anger faded quickly, leaving only a hollow, empty sieve inside, two steps away from cracking. Snape was looking her in the eye, but she didn’t feel the brush of his mind against her barriers. He didn’t even try. Instead, he knelt down to her level. “You do care what happens to them,” he stated without hesitation.

“No, I don-”

“You do, even if you feel too angry for it to matter. You’re just scared, and feel very alone right now because of something that is not your fault. The blame lies on me.”

Wren started to protest, “No, I-”

“I should not have put such heavy burdens on children at such a young age. Those masks should never have been crafted, and I should never have let any of you get this far.”

“It’s my fault,” she croaked, “I’m the one who punched Ernie.”

“You lashed out because he was bullying a friend and anger was the only option you’d been given as an outlet.”

“But-”

“You can’t tell me,” he snarked, “that anyone taught you better.”

“... You did.”

Snape shook his head. “You and your friends think far too highly of my skills to keep personal issues apart from business. I’m a bitter, old man.”

“You’re a spy,” she stated, voice blank as tears threatened to escape the corners of her eyes. 

“Yes, because I was bitter enough to choose to be,” he sighed, “I cannot change that, nor can I change what I am, but I can do my best to prevent you from following my path… Forgive me for not realizing it sooner.”

Wren choked out a shaky breath before it all became too much and she started to cry again. Snape stiffly pulled her close, forcing her head onto his shoulder to stifle the stem of tears. He didn’t run his hand through her hair, or whisper reassurances into her ear like her father used to. He wouldn’t take her out to ice cream or crumpets to try and cheer her up. He didn’t do those kinds of things.

Professor Snape was not her father, and he didn’t act like it, but… something crumbled inside her. He was different, the good kind of different. 

Cared when no one else did.

Protected those who would never be protected.

Watched for those who didn’t have a home.

Hid behind as many masks as they did.

He  _ understood _ in a way her father hadn’t been able to and her mother never tried to.

Wren sobbed into his shoulder and knew things would be okay.

Just so long as Professor Snape was there. 


	17. Nothing is Okay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! I am almost done writing second year! I just have a few more chapters to write, so I'm back to being a little ahead of updates, which means things should be consistent for the next while. I'm planning on working on an every other week schedule since my semester is slowing down. Hopefully my current inspiration doesn't run dry, since I'm really excited to move onto year three since it will be less plot driven as far as I'm aware, but who knows (XD) it might be just as crazy as this is turning out. 
> 
> Thank you all for the wonderful support you've been giving me. It really helps me write when I know my readers enjoy the story, and I love the comments that I get from you guys, so please continue. I like hearing thoughts and ideas you have about this story. Makes it really worth writing, you know?
> 
> Anyways, enjoy the update and stay safe in this crazy world!

Severus was pulling at loose ends as he listened to Selwyn cry into his shoulder. The choking miasma that had started to settle around Hogwarts after the first attack had turned sour and toxic. The teachers themselves could barely take a moment to breathe, much less teach or find the time to escort their students to and from, bothered by crushing worries about who would be next. Lockhart--the imbecile--didn’t count, still flouncing about like the overgrown peacock that he was and insisting that no one would be harmed under his watch. Students were torn between believing a man who gave them false happiness, and acknowledging the fear and panic that had swallowed the school whole. 

The Potions Master himself found himself at a loss. He’d spent most night drinking when he could find the time, hands shaking and nerves on edge. Albus was doing nothing, seemingly as perplexed as the rest of the staff. There were millions of different creatures that could possibly petrify individuals. Gorgons and cockatrices were nearly extinct and hard to find, much less control, and a basilisk was well out of the picture thanks to the notes. Only Potter was a known parseltongue--outside of the Dark Lord, but the mark was still faded and he’d personally seen to it himself that the monster would never be able to set into Hogwarts without him knowing again--and Potter would never be ordering the attacks. That, along with the fact that it was impossible for any creature of that size to walk through Hogwarts unseen.

And it wasn’t like they could do anything without figuring out who it was leaving the messages. They could clearly control the monster in some capacity, but how? What was it?

He shook the thoughts away before he could spiral. He had to be there for the girl crying on his shoulder, no matter how many frayed edges tugged at his attention. Clearly he’d missed something in the rush of the days to let her get to this point. Selwyn had always walked the edge between calm, precise movements and a nasty temper that had him remembering meetings with the Dark Lord. He wouldn’t be surprised if she had Black blood in her, with her capacity for losing herself to the darkness in her. It scared him more than he liked to admit, but normally the group of children was able to take care of themselves.

Things had clearly changed as soon as Granger had been petrified.

His stomach rioted at the thought of one of  _ his _ children lying in the hospital wing. The mandrake roots weren’t even ready to be chopped yet, the date marked clearly on his calendar and watched with fervor. He couldn’t  _ do anything _ until his potion ingredients were ready thanks to the fact that  _ someone  _ (who he was sure was behind the notes) had bought all the mandrake ingredients that he could ever get his hands on--save for the cheap ingredients which were just as likely to kill those who were petrified. 

He didn’t like feeling helpless.

It reminded him all too much of cowering in fear of the bully of a father he’d had to live with growing up and his bruised, crying mother. 

Severus shook his head.  _ Again. _ He needed to stop.

He needed to-

There was a knock at the door. 

Immediately, he slid his mask back in place, standing and shoving Selwyn behind him right before the door burst open. He raised an unamused brow at the sheepish looking Weasley twins who were panting, clearly having sprinted all the way down to the dungeons in whatever Merlin-forbidden corridors they’d found. Behind them an equally winded Ronald, Longbottom, and Potter were peering over their shoulders.

“And, what, may I ask, are you doing here?” Severus let a little of the anger in his chest slip out. “Especially considering everything is under  _ lockdown _ ?”

The twins only shrugged.

Fred, or at least who Severus was fairly certain was Fred, piped up first. “We heard from a friend-”

“-about a second year-” the other continued.

“-who sounded a lot like Wren-”

“-getting sent to detention-” 

“-for beating the snot out of some-” Fred grinned, a facsimile of his usual, expression pale and drawn like his brothers’.

“-other kid.” George started, before they finished together, “We figured Wren might need us to save her from the big, bad bat.”

“Is Wren okay?” Longbottom interrupted the two, elbowing himself through. 

“See for yourself,” he grumbled, stepping out of the way to expose her to sight. 

Longbottom rushed to her side, tugging her hands away from her face as she tried to hide. The others soon followed, piling in like they owned the place. Severus grumbled to himself about idiotic children who couldn’t even follow rules with their lives on the line as he shut the door behind them. There was no use in letting Slytherin’s monster into the classroom if it was out and about. 

Somehow, he didn’t think he’d get away with drinking that night.

***

“What happened? What did Ernie say?” Neville whispered frantically to his friend, fussing over her like his grandmother did with him, even handing her a handkerchief to wipe the tears away. “Susan said you attacked him out of nowhere.”

Wren just cried harder, sniffling into the kerchief while Fred and George shuffled Neville away. “Give her space to breathe, Nev,” George told him, Fred already working to pull Wren into a hug. “Knowing Ernie, the bloke was probably running his mouth.”

“She punched him,” Neville pointed out.

Wren mumbled something into Fred’s pajama shirt, causing the boy to pause. “What’d you say?”

She slowly un-pressed her face to whisper a soft, “He was blaming Draco and comparing him to his father.”

The mood of the room instantly soured at her words, Fred and George’s eyes twinkling with protective anger. Even Harry seemed upset to hear Draco had been blamed, even with the two’s more rocky relationship--which was slowly healing with time.

“I hope you broke his nose,” Neville huffed.

George snorted. “That’s our Neville.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” the boy pouted, especially as the twin reached over to mess with his hair, waving his hands away. 

“Nothing,” the twins replied in stereo, grins on their faces.

Neville started to bristle, already starting in on a riot act that would impress even his grandmother. The distraction served as a perfect opportunity for Harry to insert himself closer to Wren, gaze as equally as hollow as hers.

“How… How are you holding up?” he asked, voice raspy like he’d been screaming--nightmares more than likely. Everyone in their group had them, and the voice that had been haunting the halls had done neither him nor Wren a favor in that regard. He looked tired, almost sleep ruffled even though it was barely past dinner. It wouldn’t surprise her if he’d slept through the meal instead of actually eating it. He was getting thinner again. 

Wren rubbed at her puffy eyes, sniffling a little. “I’m fine. It was dumb. I shouldn’t have lost my temper.”

“Ernie deserved it,” Ron huffed, poking Harry’s shoulder so he could huddle close too. Neville and the twins were growing louder, though Snape was clearly keeping an eye on them, albeit a reluctant one.

She let a small laugh escape her before shaking her head. “Punching him just made me feel worse. Hurting him won’t--” her voice wobbled and quivered.

“... bring ‘Mione back,” Harry finished for her. He slowly reached to pat her on the shoulder, his hands shaking.

“Yeah,” she whispered morosely. 

The three of them were silent for a long while, crouched down on the floor as they were as the world seemed to spin around them. “H-How-” Wren started, rubbing her fingers against the edge of her cloak, “How are you both… doing?”

Ron shook his head from Harry’s side, jutting his chin in Harry’s direction. “We’re surviving,” he stated regardless of the clear message.

_ Harry wasn’t okay. _

“I told ‘Mione about the voice,” Harry blurted out, the words soft and almost unheard over everything else, “I- I think that’s why she was in the library. Because I said something and- and she had to figure it out. It’s- It’s all my fau-”

Wren’s hand darted out to grab his, causing the boy to jolt from his misery in alarm. She gave him an unapologetic shake of her head. “It’s not your fault. If anything it’s mine. We…” the words choked in her throat, “We should have said something sooner. I- I should have said something. Not keeping it quiet because I was scared.”

Ron glanced between the two of them. “The voice that Harry’s been hearing? What does that have to do with anything?” 

Harry and Wren both winced, shying away from Ron’s eyes. 

The other boy’s expression turned into a frown before realization set in. His expression turned gobsmacked. “You can both hear it? But then why can nobody else hear it? You’d think someone would notice if something started talking from the walls--it’s not like you both know a secret language or anything.”

Harry tugged at his sleeves, biting his lip to the point of bleeding. He wouldn’t share Wren’s secret. Not after she’d asked him to keep quiet. 

The girl mumbled her response, the words muddled.

“What was that?”

“I’maParselmouth,” she repeated, the words slurred together, Wren looking miserable. The others were slowly starting to pay attention themselves, the twins and Snape both catching onto the fact that Wren looked like she was about to be sick.

“I didn’t understa-”

“I’m a Parselmouth like Harry!” Wren blurted out, eyes wet as she shook in place.

The room turned into a stunned silence as the lot of them all stared at Harry and Wren as if they’d said something incredulous. Then again, they hadn’t even thought of there being  _ one  _ Parselmouth in the school until the disastrous Duelling Club Incident, let alone  _ two _ .

Harry struggled to break the silence, his own fidgeting growing to trembling. “It’s why I knew Hagrid wasn’t the Heir no matter what the diary said,” he rushed to explain. “The thing that crawled out was too… insect-like. It wasn’t a snake. Both Wren and I can hear whatever’s in the walls which means it has to be a snake of some sort. Not that knowing what it is will do us any good considering we still don’t know who’s controlling it.” He licked at his chapped lips. “It isn’t either of us… and- and you said being a Parselmouth was rare and- and-”

“Potter,” Snape stalked forward and knelt down in front of the two of them within seconds, “cease your babbling. The two of you explain this to me, from the  _ very beginning _ . With emphasis on  _ why you never told anyone _ .”

Wren and Harry both flinched away from his harsh tone. 

“W-we-”

“I was the one who told Harry to keep quiet,” Wren stated, stepping in front of the stuttering Gryffindor. She knew he wasn’t in danger from Snape, but she wasn’t sure if he knew that yet. She could almost feel his heart beating against his chest from, and the raspy breaths he took weren’t a good sign either. “I- I didn’t…” she looked down at the ground, “I didn’t want anyone to know about… about me being a- a- a…”

“Parselmouth?” Snape supplied, voice carefully crafted into a blank slate.

She nodded, biting her lip and tearing up once more.

Snape opened his mouth to say something--probably some sort of admonishment--when he stiffened. His head whipped towards the door to the classroom and cursed under his breath, drawing upon a well of knowledge--Russian and French alike, as he felt the shift in magic around the castle. Something had happened to the wards, and something akin to dread flooded down his spine. 

Something had changed, and he was sure it wasn’t for the better.

He almost had to remind himself how to breathe when he felt one of his wards ping and the oxygen came rushing in. 

Minerva was coming to the dungeons.

_ Shit _ .

_ Minerva _ was coming to the  _ dungeons _ , where his  _ children were out of bed and breaking curfew. _

“Into my private office. Now!” he snapped, flinging the door open with wordless magic. “We’ll talk later, but we’re about to have company and you do  _ not  _ want to be caught out past curfew.”

“Yes, Professor!” the twins said, shoving everyone into the now-open room. Ron and Neville both protested, but were quickly silenced as the door closed behind them.

And right on time, too, as Minerva slammed the classroom door open, face pale, drawn, and looking in a panic.

“Albus has been removed as headmaster!”


	18. Everything Turns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Here is your bi-weekly update. I'm still ahead quite a few chapters, and I've got a lot of fun things planned for you all. It's looking like this work is going to be around 27 chapters long, so only nine more chapters to wait for after this (but knowing myself it will probably go longer). I hope you're fine with the pace I've been setting, because it's a lot of fun to play around with the characters' thoughts. 
> 
> That being said, I want to thank all of you who left me such nice comments for the previous chapters--it really makes writing something like this easier. It's hard to maintain interest in something for so long if no one seems to like it, but you guys have given me nothing but the best of support, and I love you all for it.
> 
> Please, continue to leave comments and kudos. Those make my day.
> 
> Well, have fun with the chapter, and a Merry Christmas (Kwanza, Hanukkah--though I'm pretty sure that's passed--or whatever holiday you celebrate this time of year)!

Harry couldn’t stop staring at his hands as he sat with his back pressed to the wall, the cracked door their small group was listening to providing all the information he needed to know. Albus Dumbledore had been asked to resign, and had done so at the bequest of one Lucius Malfoy. Hagrid was gone now too--taken to Azkaban for a crime he didn't commit. 

Just like Sirius. 

His heart felt cold, frozen in his chest even as he listened to Professor McGonagall’s frantic explanation. He could hear the panic and exhaustion in her voice, and he was almost certain she was crying as she explained how she was acting deputy now. How she was in way over her head and felt like she was drowning.

Harry found that he could relate to that.

It felt like everything had moved away behind a thick sheet of something like honey or molasses. Almost like that one time he’d gotten sick enough for Petunia to take him to a hospital in fear of whatever ‘they’ would do to her if he died. He was certain now that ‘they’ were wizards, and the like, but he couldn’t be sure. No one would tell him anything anyways, so why ask the question? It would always be a pat on the head and a sad “maybe I’ll explain later” before sending him away to face the world world. Well… almost everyone. 

He felt the urge to pick up a pen and write to Sirius again, unlike the past couple of weeks where even the thought of going to classes was hard. What was the point if Hermione was stuck in the hospital wing? She was the person who most deserved to be able to go to class--to learn. She loved magic, and Hogwarts, and learning! Why did she have to be the one petrified?

_ Because you told her about the voice in the walls,  _ a cruel voice crooned at the back of his mind. It was nothing like his own; calm and collected like Tom Riddle’s memory had been.

Tom Riddle.

Harry’s stomach turned as he thought of the strange prefect from far in the past. He’d seemed  _ sure _ that it was Hagrid. How had he been so wrong? Whatever it was that escaped hadn’t been a snake. Harry knew that for sure, and the thing in the walls--the monster that had hurt Hermione and everyone else--had to be a snake. It  _ had _ to be. And Hagrid would never hurt anyone. How could Riddle have thought he could let a girl die? 

A sudden image of a dead Hermione flashed through Harry’s mind and his knuckles turned white as he clenched his fists.

Hermione wasn’t dead.

She was just petrified. 

She would come back and fuss over all the classes she’d missed and it would be okay.

It was going to be okay.

It  _ had  _ to be. 

Harry pulled his knees to his chest, fingers catching on the thin, worn material--especially the rip that he hadn’t had time to repair since it had gotten torn by whoever had stolen the diary. He shook his head. He didn’t want to think about that diary. Not anymore.

He didn’t need anything else to worry about with Dumbldore gone, Hagrid arrested, and Snape and McGonagall on the verge of panic. It was all he could do to keep calm himself. Or at least fake something similar to calm. 

A line of body heat settling next to him had Harry startling, muscles tensing and flinching away from it. 

“... sorry,” Wren mumbled, her own face hidden under her curly mess of hair. At some point she’d shifted from standing all alone on the edge of Snape’s rug to sitting next to him.

“No, it’s fine,” Harry heard himself say, even if he wasn’t sure the thing moving and talking using his body was  _ him _ . Not that he knew who he was. Not really.

Too deep thoughts.

_ Breathe. Focus. Move on. _

The Occlumency steps came unbidden to his mind, and he found himself relaxing. 

Wren didn’t say anything and curled further into herself. Hesitantly, Harry reached out towards her and grabbed her hand. Even if he was scared, he could share what little courage he still had. 

“Thanks,” she murmured, giving him a poor attempt at a smile. 

“Thanks for defending me earlier,” he shrugged.

Both of them fell quiet as McGonagall’s voice picked up again, a new frantic edge to her voice.

_ “I can’t run a school like this!” _

_ “The teachers are struggling enough with the load as it is and I will most certainly not be allowing the Ministry to poke their nose into this after Cornelius’s actions tonight. _ ”

_ “The students are in danger.” _

_ “We can’t ask the prefects to do any more, or their own studies will suffer.” _

_ “If another attack happens, we’ll have to send the students home-” _

Harry felt the knot in his stomach tighten further, curling along the bones of his ribs as if to suffocate him.  _ No, no, no _ , he couldn’t-

_ No _ .

He couldn’t go back to the Dursely’s. Not after what he did this summer. And to come home early was a death sentence. He would be locked in his cupboard for weeks without food… and water. What if they hurt Hedwig because she made noise? What if they didn’t let him come back to Hogwarts? What if-

“... what diary?” 

Wren’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

“What?”

The girl’s free hand picked at her robes. “You mentioned a diary earlier. And something about Hagrid not doing something.”

Harry blinked. “It was… I don’t know. It had someone’s memories in it, someone who was a prefect when the first attack happened. They accused Hagrid because of one of his monsters or something. But it wasn’t him--it wasn’t a snake. Just some sort of insect I think? Maybe something furry?” He frowned. “Either way, I didn’t get a good look at it. Besides, Hagrid wouldn’t let someone die, and- and there was a girl who died.”

Wren matched his frown, pursing her lips. “A diary with memories?”

“Yeah, and it wrote back too. He seemed rather stuck up--kind of like Percy.”

She wrinkled her nose. “What was his name?”

“Tom Riddle.”

Wren turned to look at him, a strange light in her eyes. “I know that name.”

“Ron says he polished an award or something that belonged to him in the-”

“No, not there,” Wren shook her head, eyes unfocused. “I’ve heard that name somewhere else. From outside of Hogwarts. But…” Her gaze grew dark. “I have to be wrong. Tom Riddle was a muggle, if I remember right. Had something to do with the Gaunts.”

“The Gaunts?”

She clenched her jaw as her hands pulled themselves into fists. “Really nasty wizards that everyone’s best off forgetting about. They were the worst of the worst--Morfin Gaunt deserved Azkaban,” she growled.

Harry almost wanted to back away at the pure  _ anger _ in Wren’s voice.

“W-What did he do?”

“He was convicted of murdering an entire family of muggles… but he’s done worse.”

“What-”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Harry swallowed and left it alone.

Wren sighed and casually let her head drop onto Harry’s shoulder. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap. Guess I’m still upset from earlier.”

“Everyone’s antsy. I don’t blame you.”

“You’re too nice. Maybe it was best that you convinced the hat to put you in Gryffindor. Slytherin would have eaten you up alive.”

Harry startled. “How did you-”

“Just figured it out. You act more like a Slytherin than most people notice,” she shrugged, “If they looked a little closer, they would see you’re not Gryffindor’s golden boy. Besides,” she shot him a small, weak smile, “You’re not the only one who asked to be in a different house.”

“Oh…  _ oh _ .”

“Yeah. Oh.”

Somehow, that made Harry feel better. 

He smiled.


	19. Discoveries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I'm finally back at my apartment after the hullabaloo of the holidays and my friend's wedding, thank goodness. 
> 
> As always, enjoy the chapter and please leave comments if you can/want to (and kudos of course!). I love reading them and it gets my creative juices flowing. Hopefully I can keep up with the every other week updating, but no promises--school is around the corner and this time I'm teaching three labs on top of my own classes so I'll be plenty busy. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Severus rubbed at the dark circles under his eyes as he entered his private office, feeling more worn than he thought he would ever feel again. It was like they were back to fighting in the war--every moment of rest possibly their last as they fought against an unbeatable enemy. Minerva had left in a right state, and the fact that she was unable to piece herself together made Severus feel at a loss for how he would be able to maintain his composure for the children.

The children who were looking at him with wide and frightened eyes.

Damn.

They’d been eavesdropping. 

_ You only have yourself to blame for teaching them to do so, _ Black’s voice pointed out.  _ The price you pay for using them as your own little cohort of spies. _

_ Shut up,  _ he told it.

Holding up a hand before the barrage of questions could start, he glared at them. “How long have you been listening in on this  _ private _ conversation?”

“Oh, puh-leeze,” Fred scoffed, crossing his arms.

George grinned. “Like you weren’t expecting us to-”

“- listen in. You taught us-”

“- not to get caught, but to always listen.” 

“Brats,” he grumbled, moving towards his favorite chair and collapsing into it. He didn’t let the moment of reprieve linger. He couldn’t seem weak in front of them. Not at a time like this. “Miss Selwyn, Mr. Potter, front and center. We have  _ matters  _ to discuss.”

A petty part of Severus grinned at the way the two of them walked towards him like dogs with their tails between their legs. Served them right for not informing him of the fact that they were definitely dealing with something that was a  _ snake. _ Merlin’s itchy nose hair, the idiots should have come to him in the first place! Potter was fidgeting more than Selwyn, the girl having taken the time spent in the office to gather herself. Good. He didn’t want to deal with two blubbering messes. Severus sat back into his chair, arms crossed and expression stern. “Now, why don’t you tell me all the important facts that you’ve been neglecting to share with me.”

It wasn’t a request.

It was an order. 

The Weasleys and Longbottom all watched Potter and Selwyn with a mix of eagerness and nerves. Almost like they felt some sort of sympathy to the poor students who had gotten on Severus’s bad side. Selwyn was the first to speak. “Harry and I can both hear whatever the monster is and only us, so it has to be some sort of snake, right? A snake that can move through walls. We…” she rubbed her arm, “We don’t know who’s controlling it though. Harry and I wouldn’t do that.”

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “And that’s all you know?”

Selwyn nodded while Potter seemed to hesitate. Severus raised a brow, looking pointedly at him.

“Anything you’d like to add, Mr. Potter?”

Potter shivered, before quietly whispering. “It… It’s hungry a lot. Likes to kill things. And,” he hesitated for a moment longer before shaking his head. “It’s big. Really, really big.”

Selwyn glanced at him. “How do you figure?”

The boy shuffled where he stood. “I just- It feels  _ big _ , you know?”

Everyone stared at him. Severus, however, narrowed his eyes. “Mr. Potter, if you would, tell me, do you feel anything when I do this?” He slowly let a fraction of the tight restraint he had on his magical core loose.

Potter immediately flinched and backed away.

Huh.

_ Interesting. _

“May I presume that I am correct in assuming you can feel the shift in my magic?”

“It got… bigger,” Potter blinked. “Like, it feels heavier now.”

“Mr. Potter, if you were to choose the strongest magic user in Hogwarts, who would you pick?”

Potter blinked up at him in confusion. “Why-”

“Answer the question.”

“Umm,” the boy thought for a long moment, shifting around in his seat, “It… It depends, sir.”

“On?”

“On what you’re looking at.”

“Clarify.”

Potter bit his lip, fidgeting even more now. “I- I would say yours is the heaviest, but Dumbledore’s is the farthest reaching. Um…” He seemed to be scratching at all corners of his mind to answer the question. “And Flitwick has the quickest to react.”

Severus blinked. “Flitwick? Hmn,” he pressed his fingers together, “I suppose that would be his goblin heritage at play, and his prowess at duelling.” He frowned as he looked at Potter in a new light. “How did Miss Lovegood say you were fairing on Occlumency?”

The boy shuffled around, “I- We stopped after…  _ everything  _ happened, but I- I’m struggling on closing things away. Her- Hermione,” his voice cracked on her name, “is good at it, but I’m- Luna says I’m not built that way.”

_ Of all the things you would inherit, it would have to be that, _ the professor’s mind sighed. “It seems,” he said out loud, “that you’ve inherited your mother’s ability then.”

Potter’s head bobbed up in shock. “My- My mother?”

“Yes,” Severus’s jaw twitched, “Lily  _ Potter  _ had a particularly sensitive ability to read auras--especially while her own core was developing,”  _ and while she was pregnant with you. _ “It wasn’t advertised, obviously, but she could do it.”

“Woah, mate, that’s rare,” Ronald whispered in awe. “That and parseltongue? It’s almost like the fates are gearing you up for a fight.”

Potter went pale. “I don’t want to fight anything.”

Ronald flushed and looked away. “Sorry, mate. Just a thought.”

The professor pointedly avoided everyone’s eyes at Ronald’s statement, drawing away from the conversation in the process.  _ If only you knew _ , he thought sadly. Someone  _ was _ gearing Potter up for a fight, and one Severus was sure would turn sour. He wouldn’t be able to protect Lily’s child from a prophecy, just like he hadn’t been able to protect them both from the Dark Lord once he’d set his sights onto them. A flare of hopelessness bubbled up from his chest and he found himself struggling to swallow. He couldn’t think about this now. Not on top of everything else. Not when he could only wait and watch for the day when he would be too weak and  _ stupid _ to do anything but let Harry die as he faced the Dark Lord--whenever that monster deigned to show his face again. 

The image that future provided made him feel sick. They’d fought a war to prevent anyone from ever having to repeat the same horrors and tragedies as they had, and they’d failed. 

They had all failed.

He tuned back into the conversation as Ronald seemed to flail at some sort of argument Neville had made. “Well it’s not like it’s the first time. If Harry thinks Lockhart feels ‘hollow’ then he doesn’t have our best interest at heart. Besides, I doubt he’s done all those things anyways. Look at how he flounces about!”

“No one’s disproven anything.”

“I dunno, maybe he jinxed some poor sod’s memory if they ever thought to argue with him. Everyone’s got to be good at something.” Ronald shrugged. 

Severus dismissed the theory along with the others quite easily. Obliviate was a tricky spell, even for the best of magic users. He highly doubted Lockhart could even attempt such a thing without it failing miserably. What was more likely was him paying them off. 

Still…

He shook his head. It was too late to be thinking about that idiot, and the children still needed to go to school the next day. He wouldn’t be having any accidents in potions just because these dunderheads had stayed up too late. “Off to bed, in a group,” he growled, pointing them towards the nearest tunnel--one that he often used if he needed to rush to the center of the castle. It would get them out of the dungeons safe enough, though…

He got to his own feet.

He wasn’t going to deal with any sobbing parents because the fools were caught unawares by whatever snake monster was prowling the halls. And, Potter and Selwyn did say they had heard it’s voice from within the walls. Best not tempt the danger. 

Shuffling the group along, Severus kept a wary eye out for movement as he considered everything he’d learned.  _ A big snake that can move within walls, _ he mused, face souring even more as he considered the possibility.  _ Not a gorgon--too many snakes to be speaking all as one. Autonomy rules out runespoors as well, even if they didn’t have the ability to petrify.  _ A lead stone settled in his stomach as he realized what that left. Cockatrices weren’t snakes in nature, which left only a basilisk, but how? Obviously, Salazar Slytherin had hatched the monster a long time ago, and as a parselmouth, could control it. He’d also clearly made it so that only those with his blood could control it--thus the ‘Heir’. This still left the problem of why it was petrifying and not killing. Was it just up to chance? Or was that the purpose of whoever was in control?

Severus didn’t like this. Not one bit. A basilisk able to fit within the walls and escape would have to be small, likely the size of a mouse if it was leaving through mouse holes and the like. Perhaps that was why Mrs. Norris had been attacked? An accident that this ‘Heir’ had taken advantage of to stir up the masses into a panic? 

If that was the case it had certainly worked.

He pinched the bridge of his nose again, waiting and watching as Wren made her way towards the Hufflepuff common room. He’d make sure his children got to their respective houses before spending the night figuring this mess out. He’d at least need to see if he could figure out how it was moving within the walls… and where it would lay dormant long enough to seal it away or kill it.

Tonight was going to be a long night.


	20. All the Pieces...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! College is starting back up soon, but I have the rest of this story all finished up. To buy myself and my beta more time, I'm still going to plan on releasing a chapter every other week, hopefully you all understand. 
> 
> Anyways, hope you like this chapter, it's shorter than the next couple of ones to follow, but I'm sure you'll see why XD. I was a little evil with cliffhangers this time around. Kudos and comments are still and always will be appreciated--they really keep me going guys, I can't say that enough, especially with school-year depression kicking in. 
> 
> And yeah, that's it. Enjoy!

Harry sunk his hands into the rich, crumbling dirt as he tried to keep his mind busy from the overwhelming silence haunting the greenhouses. It was nice to have the familiar feeling of dirt under his nails, his hands feeling at home in the soil thanks to years and years of gardening experience from Petunia’s chores. The garden back at the Dursleys had been his project for years. No one else had touched it since he was four and able to pull weeds. While he didn’t get much of a choice in what he could or couldn’t grow, it was still his solace during the summer--something he had missed after being punished for Dobby’s cake incident. His brow furrowed as he remembered the strange house elf. He’d been really injured the last time he’d been there, and he’d known about the attacks that were coming too. If he somehow found a way to contact him, could he ask where the Chamber was? Or would that be something else that Dobby would just be punished for.

“Your face is going to get stuck like that,” a soft voice interrupted him. His head bobbed up to see Wren, who had moved to weed out her own set of fluxweed next to him. 

“I’m just thinking,” he muttered, shrugging, “Why aren’t you with…” Harry’s voice trailed off as his eyes found the other Hufflepuffs avidly ignoring Wren or glaring at her. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” she sighed, “Oh.” A piece of dirt was smudged along her cheek, which was clearly tear-smudged. She’d been crying again. 

Harry awkwardly knocked his elbow against hers and managed a smile. “Well, you know you can always team up with Neville and me. Or Ron.” He glanced over at his friends to see Neville lecturing Ron in a way that sent a sharp pang in his heart. It was almost like seeing Hermione again, as the normally reserved acting boy let loose on his mask and his true stubborn personality shined through. They’d ended up partnered at their bench since Ron was usually with Hermione. The bench had sat empty until about a week ago, when Ron’s loneliness had boiled over and he’d started a fight with Seamus over something dumb. “Though,” he shot her a teasing smile, “you might have to help him remember not to pull out the fluxweed with the weeds.”

Wren let out a small laugh, but it was genuine, and Harry felt himself lighting up. “Thanks,” the other girl smiled back.

The two of them worked together in companionable silence until it was time to head out of the gardens and back towards the castle. All the other students groaned, already dreading heading back into the suffocating walls of stone. 

Harry ran a hand over his face, walking beside Wren and watching Ron and Neville disappear up ahead into the crowd of students. Honestly, he was starting to hate every second of spending time in the castle, despite the fact that he’d considered it home for years. Especially when the monster’s voice seemed to slide through the walls like it was using some sort of secret passageway that only it could find. But that wasn’t possible--Snape had been eager to point out that everyone knew of at least one passage, and no one had noticed anything amiss. It wasn’t like the giant snake could slide around unnoticed. 

It was driving him mad trying to think through it all. It was like that one time Vernon hadn’t been able to find what was making a crying noise in the bathroom until one day he’d had Harry take the whole bottom of the sink out. There had been a little baby bird that had somehow snuck into the pipes system.

Harry froze.

_ Pipes _ .

“Uh, Wren?” Harry asked, his voice cracking.

“What’s wrong?” she frowned. 

“Do wizards use plumbing? Or does everything just vanish?”

She gave him an incredulous look. “Of course we use plumbing, we’re not that lazy with magic.”

“And the pipes would run through the whole castle, right?”

“Yes, but why-”

Wren froze now too, a couple of their yearmates doing their best to shove her forwards in through the door and almost flinging her into a group of first year Ravenclaws and Gryffindors--Harry recognizing Luna in the crowd. “Merlin’s left sock,” Wren swore, swirling to face Harry. “You think-”

He nodded. “If it’s not a passageway, then it has to be moving through the pipes, right?” 

“We have to tell Snape.”

Wren agreed, before wincing. “I don’t see him until tomorrow for classes.”

“I’ve already had him today,” Harry swallowed.

The weight of the knowledge rested heavy on their shoulders as they trudged farther in, not noticing a small shadow following them. “How’d it even get there in the first place?” he asked after a little while. “It can’t just be circling around in the walls, or it wouldn’t be able to attack people.”

“There has to be an entrance or an exit--probably the Chamber,” Wren muttered, crossing her arms. “But how has nobody noticed a bloody giant snake leaving from a pipe…” She nearly cut Harry off as she stopped once again, the two of them abandoned by their classmates in the rush to the next class. Eyes wide, she looked at Harry. “Unless- You said in the diary, that the Riddle boy told you someone had died?”

“Yeah.” He frowned. “They said some girl died from the attack.”

“Someone who might have never left a room full of pipes?”

Harry’s eyes widened. “You think Myrtle-”

Wren nodded. “It makes sense. We could go and ask her if she remembers anything! Then we can tell Professor Snape-”

Harry was already dashing down the hall and up the stairs to the girl’s bathroom, dragging Wren along. They were going to be late to their classes anyways, and this was more important. Soon, their shoes were splattering across the wet floor as they slid into Myrtle’s bathroom. The ghost herself immediately wailed upon seeing them before realizing who it was. “Oh, hi Harry. Wren,” she greeted nicely.

The small Gryffindor grinned brightly back. “Hello, Myrtle.” He’d come to her a couple of times to chat with the ghost even after they’d stopped brewing the polyjuice potion. The ghost was quirky and funny, he’d learned, and had a soft spot for the girls who used the bathroom as a solace from bullies--like Luna and Millicent. The two girls had apparently dragged Wren here often enough that Myrtle could tolerate her presence without throwing a fit. She was honestly one of the nicest ghosts in the castle once you got past all the screaming, but Harry was used to that since Petunia shrieked at him a lot. “We had a question for you.”

Moaning Myrtle twirled along the ceiling before leaning right up into Harry’s face, causing him to blink. “Oh?”

“How did you die?” he blurted out, earning a snicker from Wren at the abrupt question.

Myrtle practically squealed from excitement. “Oooh, it was dreadful,” she floated over towards one of the stalls, pretending to sit on the barrier. “It happened right in here. Olive Hornby had been teasing me about my glasses so I hid in here. The door was locked, and I was crying,” the ghost play-acted the event, small sniffling noises escaping her throat. “And then I heard somebody come in. They were speaking funny--a different language or something. I was so upset that a  _ boy  _ was talking in the  _ girl’s  _ bathroom, so I unlocked the door to yell at him to go and use his own toilet, and then...” Myrtle paused for dramatic effect, a grin on her face, “I  _ died _ .”

“Just like that?” Harry blinked in confusion. 

“Did you see any eyes?” Wren asked.

Myrtle nodded, pointing towards the sink. “Big, yellow eyes. My whole body seized up, and then it was like I was flying away… until I came back to torment Olive Hornby for making fun of my glasses.” She practically giggled like a school girl--relishing the relived moment.

Harry and Wren ran over to the sink. “It can’t have just come out of the sink, can it?” Wren asked Harry, an incredulous tone in her voice. “That doesn’t make any sense even by wizard standards.”

He shook his head, and examined the sink closer until his thumb rubbed across something strange. Pausing, he moved to squint at whatever he’d touched. A small snake was scratched into the copper tap. 

“This tap never works,” Wren whispered, seeing the same snake and twisting at the knobs to prove her point. “But how-”

“ _ Open _ .” Harry hissed, looking closely at the snake, his yearning to prove himself right shoving every inch of magic to his command. The tap began to glow, spinning away from the wall, followed by its neighbor, and then the next and the next, until a large whole where the sink used to stand was all that was left.

“Merlin’s beard,” Wren whispered, examining the whole. “This must be…”

“What are you doing here?” Myrtle’s voice floated behind them.

Harry tensed at the words, already turning to see who it was-

“Stupefy!”

His world went black. 


	21. ... Come Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I hope you are all doing well this fine Monday. Here is your bimonthly dose of angst and Harry Potter. Fair warning, there is angst in this chapter XD. Snape be angry. And we're drawing towards the end of second year, which is exciting. I am already working on the next installment after this, but it is slow going with grad school keeping me otherwise busy, so I will be sticking to my bimonthly update schedule of every other Monday unless I feel like I can keep up otherwise.
> 
> I hope everyone is fine with this:/. Anyways, remember to kudos and comment if you can. I'm having a bit of an emotional rough patch right now, and your comments really help me keep writing. Thank you, all of you who have left me comments, you have made me cry happy tears and made me think on how to improve my story by a lot. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you!
> 
> Stay safe out there and enjoy!

“ _ All students are to return to their House dormitories at once. All teachers return to the staff room. Immediately please. _ ”

“Not another attack,” Ron whispered as McGonagall’s message rang throughout the entire school, his heart sinking. Oh, Harry and Wren were going to feel even worse now that-

“Ron?” Neville asked, nervously looking around their shared bedroom. “Where’s Harry?”

The redhead swore. “I haven’t seen him since Herbology.” Which was over an hour ago. 

Bloody hell.

How had  _ that _ slipped his notice?

“We need to get to the Professor.” Ron was already two steps ahead of Neville, snagging the invisibility cloak from Harry’s trunk before running out the door.

***

Severus was ready to throw up as Minerva glanced his way for help, the other professors panicked over the news. 

_ Their skeletons will lie in the Chamber forever. _

Who did they have? How had they taken anyone from under their close watch?

He sunk into his chair as he felt his breath. “Do we know who?” Sprout asked, fretting as she toyed with her hat. Madam Hooch at her side seemed ready to ask the same question. 

Minerva shook her head. “There are three students unaccounted for by the wards, we’ll have names soon, but…” The older woman placed her head in her hand. “We have to send the students home tomorrow--I won’t take anymore chances.” Her voice choked, “This is the end for Hogwarts. I- I can’t let this madness continue. Dumbledore always said-”

Severus opened his mouth to argue against listening to the old goat when Lockhart burst through the door, looking inappropriately relaxed. “Sorry, I must have dozed off. What have I missed?”

A broiling, seething hatred boiled over in Severus’s chest as the overground peacock continued to flap his gums, sending his ‘winning’ smile at anyone he was attempting to charm. This idiot was napping at a time like this? A time when no one else had likely slept for two hours the previous night due to patrols that he had begged off? A time when no one else was smiling like some daft fool who couldn’t tell his thumb from his entire foot? A time when-

His temper snapped. 

“You-”

The chair scraped against the floor as he got to his feet, stepping forward only for Minerva’s hand to grab his elbow. She shook her head, glaring him to submission as he forced his temper to cool. For now. 

The woman turned to Lockhart, “Now is your time to shine, Gilderoy.”

“Pardon me?” Lockhart’s color turned pale.

“Some students have been taken to the Chamber of Secrets,” Sprout piped up. “Weren’t you saying just last night that you’ve known where the entrance to the Chamber was all along?”

“I- well,” he sputtered, “I-”

“And that you knew what was inside of it?” Flitwick piped up, a dangerous grin appearing on the half-goblin’s face. 

“Did I? I- I certainly don’t recall-”

“We’ll leave it to you then, Gilderoy,” Minerva cut in once again before Severus could let something fierce out. They were leaving the rescue to this imbecile? How could they do that when students were at risk? “Tonight. We’ll make sure everyone’s out of the way so you can tackle the monster all by yourself.”

Lockhart looked ready to faint as he swallowed nervously. “V-Very well. I- I will be preparing in my office.”

The man scurried off like a hound with his tail between his legs. 

“Right,” Minerva let out a breath, irritation flooding out of her system and rolling around the room like a smoker’s haze, “Now that he’s gone, see who’s missing. We’ll have to let the families know and those in our houses be aware of when the Hogwarts Express will be leaving tomorrow…” The rest of the briefing was a distant dream as Severus did his best to contain the burning hatred in his core. Minerva’s dismissal, her ‘entrusting’ of Lockhart with this task felt like a betrayal. He knew it was just something to get rid of the man, but she was acting like she was giving up. Giving up! 

If there was one thing he’d learned from Black and Lupin was that a Gryffindor never gave up. And here Minerva was, spinelessly giving in to the wolves at the slightest sign of trouble.

A coward. 

Why was he the only one caring about the students in the Chamber? Why was he the only one who hadn’t given up? He didn’t care for the students, except for his children. He shouldn’t care if someone’s little ‘angel’ never came home. Life wasn’t fair. 

So why was he so angry?

He felt an old, weathered hand reach out towards him, and jerked away.

Minerva looked at him in surprise at his reaction.

Severus spit at her feet, not caring about the gasps all around him. 

“Severus Snape,” Minerva huffed, gearing up for a rant.

She didn’t get that luxury. 

“Stop being such a coward, Minerva. I know you better than this,” he snapped at her instead, “I would have expected more from a Gryffindor than to give these students up lying down. I won’t have their lives on my head just because you were too scared to go chasing after them. If you don’t want to do anything but save those who aren’t lost, then fine, you can. I can do this by myself.”

And with that, he whirled out of the room, intent on storming down to his dungeon to gear up. He was finding this basilisk if it killed him. 

He got as far as the entrance hall before he was bowled over.

Weasley and Longbottom. 

“What are you doing here?” he hissed angrily. They should have been safe in the dormitories. Why were they-

“Harry’s missing,” Weasley blurted out, an edge of fear in his voice.

Severus’s mind screeched to a stop. 

_ Their skeletons will lie in the Chamber forever. _

No.

No...

_ No! _

Severus was not losing Lily Potter’s son--Sirius’s godson--after everything else. The world couldn’t force him to lose anyone else. The paintings around them began to tremble and shake against the walls, the inhabitants inside screaming as their frames shuddered, some clattering to the floor. Candles flared with light as all the concealed  _ fury _ within one Severus Tobias Snape snapped free, reigning loose about the castle. Glass windows shattered all at one in the maelstrom, though none of the glass seemed to touch the three wizards in the middle of the room. Ron and Neville gasped in fear at the action, only to realize a few seconds later who was causing the room and the very foundations of Hogwarts to tremble. 

Severus was  _ angry. _

No. He’d passed regular anger long ago when he’d had to sit and wait as one of his best friends rotted away in Azkaban for a crime that weasel of a rat had committed. He’d passed that point when he’d spent hours pouring every resource he had into finding his other friends’ whereabouts, scared he would find him too late; either a corpse who’d given up or starving away on a werewolf’s salary. He’d passed that point the day he found out that these children-- _ Merlin, they were just children _ \--had seen the ugliness of the world and had come under his wing only to be hurt despite his best efforts. He’d passed that point the day he came to a torn apart home in Godric’s Hollow to find his childhood friend dead along with a man he’d slowly come to tolerate as a pseudo-brother-in-law. He’d passed that point the day an old man with a twinkle in his eyes asked him to sell his soul to the devil just for information--leading to Lily and James Potter’s death and an orphan who clearly had seen as much love as he had growing up. 

No. Severus was not angry. 

He was  _ murderous _ . 

“Professor?” Weasley asked in a weak, scared voice.

Severus’s magic snapped back to him, causing another wall of portraits to give out, the frames tumbling to the ground. “Tell me everything you know,” he snarled, before stalking off towards the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, mind rolling a patched together nightmare of a plan. He wasn’t going to let Lockhart screw this up. Not anymore. The man was either coming as bait, or not leaving that office alive to make sure of it. 

“W- We- He was in Herbology, but I didn’t see him afterwards at all. He and Wren were talking and-”

Longbottom was cut off by Weasley, who’s expression had gone still. “They found the Chamber,” he said with absolute certainty. 

“What?” Longbottom turned to his friend. 

“They found it,” the boy repeated. Severus was immediately crouching in front of Weasley shaking him by the shoulders. 

“How do you know?”

“I- I just know,” he frowned, face scrunching up. “Like a gut feeling--I don’t know. Maybe I’ve started to put the pieces together, but I just feel like they figured it out.”

“Do you know where the Chamber is?” Severus continued to interrogate, not caring if he was scaring the stuttering redhead any longer. Wren was involved now too, which means it had to be worse. 

Ron’s face scrunched in concentration as he tried to think. His hands clenched and unclenched. He’d almost had it the night before, after he’d visited Hermione by himself and found a torn page from a book.  _ Pipes? _ What did that even mean? He wasn’t the smart one of their group, that was Hermione, so she must have figured it out, but what? He hadn’t even told Harry about the words he’d found scrawled there, selfishly keeping it to himself. 

Maybe he was wrong, maybe Harry hadn’t figured it out and just heard the voice in the walls again--

_ Pipes? _

Oh. 

Basilisks only paralyze if you see their reflection. But then how-?

The water. Mrs. Norris. 

“Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom,” he stated as soon as the puzzle pieces came together. “The girl that died didn’t leave.”

Severus swore and was on his feet again. “Follow me, and for Merlin’s sake, don’t leave my sight.”

The boys ran after him.


	22. The Chamber of Secrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't kill me for the cliffhanger alright? I couldn't figure out how else to break things up. Anyways, I hope you are all doing well. We're almost there. Only six more chapters until the end of second year! If things work out though, I might upload another chapter next week instead of in two weeks. Honestly depends on if I can write enough to allow that. 
> 
> But yeah. Have fun and remember to leave me a comment if you can. It really makes me feel great to get input from you guys and keeps me going on rough days. 
> 
> Thank you all so much for your support. You guys have honestly been a highlight of writing this.

Wren hissed at the pain radiating at the back of her head as she forced her eyes open. She was more than a little familiar with the stunning spell, and had grown incredibly sensitive to it’s magical nature. The aching aftereffects of it left her head ringing as the red threads of magic slowly slipped away. Though, it didn’t distract her from the fact that she was  _ soaked _ . Her cloak and clothes were both drenched with musty water. She wrinkled her nose as she got to her knees. Why was she-

_ The bathroom! _

She’d been  _ stunned _ after they’d opened the Chamber entrance in the bathroom. Immediately the twelve year old moved to high alert, fumbling to locate her wand-

A smooth voice broke past her frenzy.

“Ah, you’re awake as well now. Welcome.” 

Wren whipped around to see an aristocratic looking boy with high cheekbones and dark eyes. He looked almost… familiar, in a way that made her unsettled. Where had she seen him before? The older boy almost blended into the room--fuzzy around the edges in a way that set her on even higher alert. Who was he? What was going on?

Eventually, her eyes drifted away from him to notice how Harry, who looked like he’d been up for a while before her, kneeling next to someone with red hair-

“Ginny,” she cried out in alarm, only barely resisting the urge to run towards Ron’s sister’s side. 

Something told her that it was safer to keep the other boy in sight. She’d learned over the years to listen to her instincts. And  _ where was her bloody wand _ ?

“She’s alive,” the new boy assured them, an almost predatory nature to the smile, “but only just.”

Wren swallowed nervously, edging her way towards Harry and Ginny while keeping her eyes on the stranger. Alarms rang loudly in her head as she felt her heart race. Something was wrong. Something was very  _ very _ wrong. 

“How are you even here?” Harry asked, “Are you a ghost?”

“A memory,” the boy murmured, “preserved in the diary for fifty years.”

Wren tensed. “Harry get away from him.”

Harry backed away, trying to bring Ginny with him, but the eleven year old was bigger than even him, making the task difficult. “Wren what’s wrong?” he whispered. 

“That’s black magic,” she told the stranger, meeting his eyes with cautious ones of her own, “Nothing can preserve memories in this fashion, not even a pensieve.” Her shoulders tensed as she felt something probe at her mental shields before throwing them out. The boy blinked in surprise, but quickly hid it behind another baring of his teeth in a facsimile of a smile. 

“So familiar with the dark arts?” he teased her. “Strange for a Hufflepuff.”

She flinched. “I know enough.”

“We’ve got to get Ginny out of here,” Harry whispered, “She’s  _ cold _ .”

Wren’s eyes flicked towards the pale form of Ron’s sister and swallowed a thick knot in her throat. “Harry,” she managed as pieces started to click together, “how did we get here?”

Harry opened his mouth to reply, before freezing, he glanced at the stranger, who had taken to twirling  _ Harry’s _ wand in front of them. Wren grabbed Harry’s free hand, her own shaking with fear. “T-Tom?” he swallowed, “Why is Ginny like this?” 

Tom-- _ Tom Riddle, the diary, _ Wren’s mind supplied in a panic--looked almost pleased with himself. “It’s quite a long story. I suppose it has something to do with the fact that she opened her heart and spilled her very  _ soul  _ to an invisible stranger who lived in a diary.”

Wren’s heart stopped. Soul magic--a specialty of the line of Salazar Slytherin, and the darkest of magics due to the sheer  _ cost _ it took to cast it. Dabbling in such magics was not for the light of heart, or even the darkest to hearts. It was monstrous--only talked about in the barest, deepest pits within annals of history. It destroyed the mind and humanity of the individual and turned them into a  _ monster _ of their own making. 

She felt sick, a well of nausea rising up to her throat. 

“Your friend here seems to be familiar with the concept,” Riddle mused, an almost giddy smile on his face as his eyes flashed red. “It’s very boring to listen to the trivial problems of a  _ little girl _ ,” he continued like he hadn’t just caused a shiver of pure terror to shoot down Wren’s spine, “but I was patient. I wrote back. I was  _ sympathetic-- _ kind even. Ginny  _ loved me _ .” Riddle’s smirk grew before he spoke in a simpering voice, “ _ Oh, Tom. no one’s understood me like you… I’m so glad I’ve got you to confide in… It’s like having a friend I can carry around in my pocket. _ ”

Wren tugged Harry farther away as her breathing picked up in fear. Riddle laughed, the sound seeming to trigger something within Harry as his eyes widened in remembrance. 

“I play the charmer well, so Ginny poured out her soul to me. I grew stronger and stronger on a diet of her deepest, darkest secrets, until I was even more powerful than she was. Powerful enough to start feeding Miss Weasley a few of  _ my  _ secrets, to start a pouring of my own soul back-”

“You possessed her,” Wren stated before Riddle could, earning a flash of ire from the boy. “You’re the Heir of Slytherin, aren’t you? The one who’s been attacking everyone.” 

He glowered at her. “I had to use Miss Weasley for everything. I forced her to strangle the roosters, write the messages, set the Serpent of Slytherin on the Mudbloods and Squib’s cat, but yes. I am the  _ Heir _ .” His chin lifted in pride.

“No, Ginny wouldn’t-” Harry tried to protest.

“ _ Oh Tom, _ ” Riddle faked a panicked pleading, “ _ I think I’m losing my memory. There are rooster feathers all over my robes, and paint everywhere. Oh, Tom, I can’t remember Halloween, but Mr. Filch’s cat was attacked. Oh, Tom! There was another attack today and I don’t know where I was. Tom, what am I going to do? I’m going mad… I think I’m the one attacking everyone. Oh, Tom, help me! _ ” Riddle chuckled, the sound dark and mirthful. “She was too stupid to realize what I was doing until it was too late, and I had her ensnared.”

Wren clenched her fists. How dare he? It was only Harry’s hand in her own that held her back. 

“And then she threw the diary away, and gave me exactly what I wanted, when  _ you _ ,” his eyes bored into Harry’s skull, “found it. I’d heard all about your exploits, and I was dying to meet you.”

“W-Why me?”

“Because you had the answers I needed, and if that took a little persuasion, a memory of my capture of Hagrid-”

“You’re framing of him, you mean,” Harry snapped. 

Riddle smirked. “Caught onto that, did you? No one else did. Headmaster Dippet was more than willing to listen to me. The only one who disbelieved my claims was the Transfiguration teacher--Dumbledore.”

“He saw right through you,” Wren murmured.

Riddle huffed. “He kept a close eye on me, making it so that I couldn’t open the Chamber while I was at school. But I wasn’t going to waste all those years I spent searching for it, so I left the diary behind, in hope that one day, I would be able to lead another in my footsteps and finish my heritage’s noble work.”

“Jokes on you,” Harry said triumphantly, “No one died, and Professor Snape is almost done with the Mandrake Draught. They’ll all come back and-”

“This is no longer about the Mudbloods,  _ Harry _ ,” Riddle shook his finger in the air, “I’ve decided to pursue a new avenue.  _ You _ . Everything that’s happened this year is because of you. Because, like I said earlier, you have answers that I need. I have so many questions for you, Harry Potter.” The memory took a few steps forward, causing Wren to drag Harry back, abandoning Ginny for the moment. “How is it, that  _ you _ \--a skinny boy with no talent--managed to defeat the greatest wizard of all time? How did  _ you _ escape with nothing but a scar, while Lord Voldemort’s powers were destroyed?”

Wren’s knees wobbled, lungs gasping for air now as a sudden thought crossed her mind.

“Why do you care how I escaped?” Harry snapped, “Voldemort was after your time-”

“Voldemort,” Riddle spoke softly, Harry’s wand tracing words in the air, leaving a fiery trail of magic, “is my past, present and future.”

TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE

I AM LORD VOLDEMORT

Wren’s heart dropped.  _ No, no, no, nononono… _ her mind screeched as half-remembered news clippings flashed through her mind. Tom Riddle. The Gaunts. The Riddle Murders. 

“-You think I was going to use my filthy Muggle father’s name forever?”

_ No. _

“-who abandoned me even before I was born, just because he found out his wife was a witch-”

_ No. _

Almost through a fog, Wren heard Harry say  _ something _ \--she couldn’t say what with her head so full of cotton--to which Riddle snarled. 

“Dumbledore’s been driven out of this castle by the mere memory of me!”

“He’ll be back,” Harry stated firmly. Wren could tell it was only a ploy to frighten Riddle, not anything he really believed. He’d been more than disillusioned over the Hogwarts Headmaster. 

Riddle opened his mouth, only to be cut off by a melodious cry further down the chamber. Wren found her panic staving off at the sound of it, courage filling her as a red flicker dodged back and forth between the snake pillars. A crimson phoenix dove towards the three students, dropping the ragged thing it was carrying into Harry’s hands, before landing onto one of the nearest pillars. 

“ _ F-Fawkes, _ ” Harry breathed at her side.

“Dumbledore,” Riddle snarled, eyeing the ragged object Fawkes had dropped. “Does he think so little of me that he only sends a  _ hat _ to protect you? A songbird and an old hat? Do you feel safe, Harry Potter?” His voice turned mocking as a frenzied light entered his eyes. “Do you feel brave with just a hat and a bird?”

Fawkes trilled, subverting the boy’s gloating, before turning to preen his feathers. 

Wren found herself agreeing with Riddle, despite the confidence the presence of the bird and hat seemed to give Harry. She hated herself for that. 

“You never answered my question, Harry,” Riddle insisted, bolstered by the pitiful expression of Dumbledore’s presence. “Twice, we have met. And twice, I failed to kill you.  _ How did you survive? Tell me everything.  _ The longer you talk, the longer I’ll allow you to stay alive.”

Harry swallowed nervously, the confidence inspired by Fawkes quickly draining away at Riddle’s grin. Wren scanned the room quickly for any chance of escape. They wouldn’t last long. Fawkes was a phoenix, maybe he could teleport them out with Ginny, and then they could get help? But if Riddle was draining Ginny of her life force, it wouldn’t help. Ginny would be gone in a matter of minutes. Wren didn’t want that resting on her consciousness. Not with the new information of Tom Riddle being  _ Voldemort _ already weighing heavy on her mind. 

“- And I’ve seen the real you,” Harry was talking, the barely suppressed anger in his voice drawing her attention despite her best efforts to just find a way to  _ get away _ , “I saw you last year. You’re a wreck--barely alive. That’s where all your power got you. You’re in hiding--you ugly, foul-”

_ Stop antagonizing him _ , Wren wanted to scream at Harry as Riddle’s face contorted into an awful smile. “Of course, I knew I was right. Nothing special about you at all. Only a strange likeness between us, both half-bloods, orphans, raised by Muggles. Probably the only two Parselmouths since Slytherin himself. We even look alike-”

“Harry’s nothing like you!” Wren snapped, moving to stand in front of Harry, all fear gone in a moment. “He’s a good person. You’re just a  _ monster _ . A  _ coward  _ who takes advantage of  _ children! _ ”

Riddle’s expression twisted into a snarl. “I am the most powerful sorcerer to ever exist, the one who wasn’t afraid to go where cowards wouldn’t!. And now, I’ll teach you a lesson. See if you can match the powers of Lord Voldemort, Heir of Salazar Slytherin, against the famous Harry Potter, the best weapons Dumbledore can give them, and,” his snarl shifted into a mean smirk as his flashing red eyes rested on Wren, “ _ cannon fodder. _ ”

Harry and Wren felt fear wrest their chests, knees and legs numb as they watched Riddle stop between the high pillars and look up at the stone face of Slytherin, looking down at them from the darkness like a foreboding moon. Riddle opened his mouth wide, and hissed in the common tongue that they all shared.

“ _ Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four.” _

Slytherin’s stone mouth dropped open, exposing a huge black hole.

Something stirred within the statue’s mouth, a hissing slither echoing from it’s depths much to the students’ horror. Harry and Wren both stumbled back, scrambling on the floor away from the large magical presence they could now both feel. Closing their eyes on instinct, they heard something huge hit the stone floor of the Chamber. They could both feel the foundations of Hogwarts shiver and shudder. They could both feel the horror even Hogwarts expressed as they sensed the giant serpent uncoiling itself from Slytherin’s mouth. 

“ _ Kill them. _ ”


	23. Severus is... not okay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, I have a new chapter this week (it's kind of really short and just a way to break up the action in a way that leaves you hanging if I'm honest--writers do be liking the cliffhangers) before going back to my every other week release schedule. I was able to start the draft for the third year before getting swamped under school and work (as well as revising my storyline for the first time since so much has happened then). Thank you guys for all the support you've given me, it's been really amazing. We're only five chapters away from the ending now after this, and then we have one (or maybe two *evil laugh*) one-shots before we get a peak into how everything in third year has changed. 
> 
> All I can guarantee is a good amount of angst and hurt/comfort. Do with that what you will. *insert more evil author laughter*.
> 
> But honestly guys, thanks for all the support and comments. They really, really make my day and writing is a lot easier when I'm actually inspired. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy.
> 
> OH! Also, warning for mild violence (canon typical) in this chapter.

Severus hated it when Ronald was right. It only seemed to happen when it was least convenient. But now, as he recalled Ronald’s previous musing about Lockhart possibly being adept at memory charms, he couldn’t help but hate himself. He should have seen this coming. Ronald had shown a particular knack along with Miss Lovegood for knowing things he shouldn’t at times when he shouldn’t. Still, he’d made a goal to no longer dismiss what was probably remnants of Seer blood in the Weasley line, only to-- _ of course, _ his mind snarled--forget it at the worst possible moment.

And now he was being held at wand-point by an overly eager Lockhart miles under the school with no chance of backup. Normally this wouldn’t be a problem, the Potion’s Master not particularly caring about his own life. But this time he wasn’t alone. Longbottom shivered next to him in fear as Lockhart jabbed Ronald’s wand further into the red-head’s chin in an action reminiscent of Bellatrix.

It sent a shudder of fear down Severus’s spine to compare the two. Somehow, his intuition told him that Lockhart might be more dangerous than even Bellatrix was. Bellatrix was at least familiar, her brand of insanity was easy to maneuver around and steer clear of. She could easily be set off in a different direction with the right amount of poking and prodding. But Lockhart… Lockhart was desperate and had a hostage.

One of Severus’s children too. 

His jaw almost broke with how strong he clenched the bones together. Severus’s eyes flicked around to the rubble and bones of the room, and couldn’t help but idly wonder if it would take long for them to decompose. He blamed the cold shock running through his body--an unfortunate side-effect of his earlier outburst of anger. His hands had yet to stop shaking from the anger of his children being dragged into the chamber. The broiling rage was simmering in the back now, forced away as soon as Lockhart had jumped Ron and stolen his wand. 

“The adventure ends here, Severus,” Lockhart said, eyes watching him closely,    
“I’ll tell them I was too late to save you, already gone and dead deep within the chamber. How the boys tragically lost their minds after seeing your mangled body along with the others-”

“Lockhart, if you touch those boys,” Severus snarled, “I will tear your heart out and serve it to the monster itself. Don’t try me.”

He moved a step forward, only for Ronald to whimper as the wand in Lockhart’s hand dug into the soft skin of his throat, the Spellotape almost caving in with the force of it. “Ah, ah, ah…” Lockhart tsked once Severus froze in place. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Severus. I’ll kill him, I swear it- Don’t take another step.”

Severus growled, hand opening and closing around his own wand. He couldn’t do anything in time, unless he wanted to attempt a nonverbal wandless spell, but he didn’t know if he would have enough time to cast anything before Lockhart could act. And the fact that the man was using an already damaged wand was a danger. It might rebound whatever curse Lockhart decided to use, or it might cause something more dangerous and volatile to be unleashed. 

He was frozen in place.

He couldn’t act.

Only watch.

He was only ever watching, never acting.

His anger spiked again. 

He couldn’t do this again.

Not again, never again,  _ please no- _

A spell was on his tongue before he could even think otherwise, his wand flicking towards the hand holding Ronald’s wand.

“ _ Sectumsempra! _ ”

“ _ Obliv- ah! _ ”

Lockhart yowled in pain as his hand was severed from his wrist, his shoulders and arms getting a glancing cut along with Ronald’s cheek. Cursing and screaming, the Defense professor collapsed amongst the bones on the ground, clutching at the bleeding stump of his wrist. Severus was quick to pull Ronald behind him, leaving Longbottom to tend to his friend’s cheek as he stooped towards Lockhart, eyes dark and malicious. “I should leave you here to rot.” Severus’s voice was blank, years old memories of war and bloodshed loose from their usual corners of his mind. 

Memories he had swallowed back into the black, stuffed away in the attic along with Tobias Snape. He’d seen nothing but pain for years. He had been forced to fight against his friends and allies throughout a war, face hidden by a skeleton mask and dark cloaks. He’d had to wait days before returning home to make sure that everyone was alive, never knowing if the person he’d used  _ that _ curse on had survived or not. He’d been forced to survive and commit atrocities that no one would ever understand. He’d watched the Dark Lord torture muggles, unable to move or stop him even as they screamed for mercy and death. 

If he’d had to watch friends go through such pain, why should he spare this man? This man who had taken one of his children and held them captive, just like the Dark Lord had done. Why save this man when he’d committed a crime that Severus was allowed to punish?

“P- Professor,” Longbottom’s voice penetrated the fog of Severus’s mind, buoying him from the dark thoughts, but just barely. “He- Lockhart’s going to bleed out. We- We have to help him.”

“Why?” Severus asked, eyes hollow as he glanced back at the boys. “He hurt you.”

They both looked up at Severus with wide-eyed expressions. “That doesn’t mean he deserves to die,” Ronald whispered, his cheek still bleeding. “I- I don’t want- I can’t-” The boy started to tear up. 

Severus’s jaw softened. 

The children were too young to see something like this. 

They didn’t need to see this.

So, he reluctantly knelt down by Lockhart’s side, and murmured a hoarse, “ _ Vulnera Sanentur _ .” He watched blankly as the wound slowly started to clot and the flesh knit together. Lockhart was likely in a world of pain still, and there was nothing they could do for his hand or the scarring that would come--Severus hadn’t brought dittany with him. But this was the best he could do.

He felt little mercy, however, once he noticed the man had passed out from pain. A dark part of him was pleased that the man had still paid for his actions. “We’ll leave him to rest here,” Severus’s voice was soft as he stood back, “He can’t do any damage as he is now, and it will only interfere with our rescue mission.”

“But we’ll come back, right?” Longbottom prodded, a pointed look sent Severus’s way.

The Potion’s Master nodded, silent as he turned to Ronald, and moved to repeat the counter incantation on the small nick on the redhead’s cheek. He’d flicked his wrist too much when he’d cast his self-made curse. Damn. He gently felt around the freshly healed over skin. “How does it feel?”

“Stings,” Ronald mumbled. “But not too bad.”

“... I should have been more careful with my casting.”

Ronald and Longbottom both moved to grab one of Severus’s hands. He blinked in surprise at the action. “It’s alright, Professor,” the two assured him. “You were just trying to keep us safe, we know that.”

A knot in Severus’s chest loosened. He shoved the wet heat in his eyes back as he felt the overwhelming urge to cry. He hadn’t earned the right to cry. They two boys didn’t seem to get the memo, however, as they pulled Severus’s shaking--when had it gotten worse, he could barely see at the edges of his eyes--form into a hug between the two of them. 

“What are you-”

“Nargles,” Longbottom drawled, “Lots of Nargles. We’re helping.”

“We need to-”

“Just shut up, Professor, it’s only for a minute.”

“Brat,” he growled at Ronald, who gave him a cheeky smile, but gave in for the small reprieve. 

Once he was able to tell what direction was up and what was down, he got to his feet, a stern expression once more on his face. 

“Let’s get Potter and Selwyn,” he gruffed, before storming further into the bone-filled tunnel.

Neville and Ron exchanged worried glances behind the professor’s back before following soon after.


End file.
